


every calculation falls silent

by thehobbem



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sissi AU, Victor's kingdom is based off Russia but it is NOT Russia, based on the movie Sissi from 1955, geographical and historical and societal liberties, liberties. all of the liberties. I took them all, no knowledge of the film or the life of empress elisabeth of austria necessary, the number of chapters keeps changing and I am SORRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbem/pseuds/thehobbem
Summary: With an engagement arranged behind his back, Emperor Victor only wishes to have one last day for himself as a free man.But the last thing he will be is free, once he meets someone who seems to have the exact same plans, and perhaps motivations, for today.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lily_winterwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/gifts).



_Dear cousin:_

_I sincerely regret that you should have been obliged to give up your intention of coming to Petrogrado for the celebrations. I should have very much liked to_ —  

“Her Imperial Highness, Grand Duchess Lilia of Muscovy.”

With a repressed sigh at the announcement, Victor abandoned his letter and got up from the table with a smile, even though the loud clack with which he dropped the pen betrayed him a little. The announcement also woke up Makkachin from her nap, and she looked up from her cushion, ears perking up in curiosity.

Lilia seldom came after him, preferring to summon him to her rooms instead. The privileges of an aunt outranked those of the emperor, it would seem. So why bother coming all the way to the other side of the palace herself?

As the servants stepped aside and made way for her, Lilia walked into Victor’s private chamber the same way she’d walk into her own rooms — a force of habit, no doubt, as the entire palace, and the country itself, had once been her husband’s (or hers, as the sharpest tongues would have it). And even now, decades later, her aquiline profile and the characteristic hair in a bun as tight as her posture were the same ones to be found in many portraits around the palace, as well on the coins circulating around the country.

“Good morning, dear aunt,” he said, dutifully kissing her hand — partly because he felt he owed this gesture of respect to his aunt and former Empress of Rus, but mostly because she fully expected him to. Makkachin also came to greet her, and Lilia generously patted her head once.

Victor was granted a slight bow of her head, almost invisible to the naked eye, before she motioned to the servants: “I’d like to be left alone with His Majesty.”

Had it been permitted for anyone in the palace to scurry away, the servants would most definitely have done just that. As it was, they walked away at the briskest pace possible in their eagerness to obey.

“You do have a moment for me, I assume?” she asked once they were alone.

“For you? Always, aunt Lilia,” he replied, walking her to the huge divan in a corner of the room. _And if I didn’t, you’d wrench one out of me anyway._ “I’m simply replying to Georgi’s letter, it can wait. What can I do for you?”

She took her place on the divan as if it were a throne, spine as straight as an arrow, and gestured for him to sit as well. “You know, dear Victor, that I always have your best interests in mind.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And also those of the empire.”

He kept his smile on through sheer will power. State talks with Lilia were the moments he least looked forward to. Having served as her husband’s right hand during his reign, her knowledge of both domestic and foreign affairs was invaluable; her personal ideas of what Victor should or should not do as the emperor, much less so, like an ever-present reminder of his shackles to the throne.

“Sure.”

“So I consider it one of my duties to ensure that the Emperor has a worthy partner by his side.”

Victor could feel himself deflating visibly. “You want me to marry.”

“Most foreign dynasties have extremely marriageable heirs, and too many nations have already sent out their feelers to me. A rejection could easily lead to political disgruntlement, and we must choose well.”

Saying he had hoped to escape the pressure of choosing a spouse for a little longer was hardly an appropriate answer; if he were being honest, at 27 years old he’d managed to elude marriage for longer than most sovereigns.

He sighed, and turned his attention to Makka at his feet. He played with her ears a little before answering, buying himself some time. “I don’t even know who I would marry. Maybe Yakov can help me make a short list of—”

“That is precisely why I have made that decision for you, and you’ll find it is a most suitable choice for this country,” she replied firmly, in a tone that admitted no contradictions — but also with a calm that implied it was the most natural thing in the world for an emperor to have no say in the matter of who he should spend the rest of his life with.

(Perhaps they didn’t. Victor's late uncle had been more saddled with Lilia than chosen her.)

He sat up a little straighter, trying not to frown. “My dear aunt, I’m most grateful for your initiative,” he said coldly, “but don’t you think that on this one point I should make my own decision?”

Lilia raised her eyebrows. “Naturally. But I’m afraid the negotiations have already concluded, and in the most successful manner, too.”

Victor choked on air: _concluded?_ Behind his back?! He stared at his aunt, and she waved away his surprise with a vaguely dismissive hand: “Don’t worry, dear, your betrothed has every virtue you and your advisors could possibly wish for. Young, pretty, intelligent, born and raised in a royal family… and a throne to add to your own.”

“What other throne could I—”

“The Nihon Isles.”

Silence.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, while Lilia failed at not looking smug at the effect caused (and clearly planned for).

Nihon, or, as the family always said, the kingdom that got away. With its complicated history of being invaded and annexed to Rus — and then stupidly lost centuries later over a dynastic dispute among his ancestors — it could also be easily called the Nikiforov dynasty’s greatest regret.

And now… he could bring it back into the fold of the empire?

“How did that come about?” he asked slowly, eyes unfocused as he pictured a new, expanded empire, one that wouldn’t need to rely on strained diplomatic relationships to keep peace with the neighbor right off their coast.

“We heard they were also looking into other dynastic houses for marriageable princes, so I sent them a feeler of our own. We were very well received, I should say, and by all accounts, the current king is a very reasonable man. Affable, even,” Lilia conceded, with the same magnanimity another sovereign might grant a knighthood to one of their subjects. “Negotiations were as easy and quick as we could desire.”

“They agreed to it?” said Victor incredulously.

Lilia raised a disapproving brow. “It may have escaped your notice, dear Victor, but this _is_ the largest empire of our age. It would be a privilege to anyone to marry into it, and I assure you others have taken note, including the House of Katsuki.”

Victor tapped his fingers on his knee and looked at the palace gardens out the window. His great-uncle was known in every history book as “the prince who lost Nihon”; Victor could go down as “the emperor who won Nihon”, and finally give Yakov and Lilia what they'd wanted for so long: for Victor to become a legendary page in history, instead of a footnote.

He looked back at Lilia, and made one last show of frustration. “Do I at least get to meet my future spouse before the wedding, or…?”

Lilia came close to a smile. “The Duke of Feltsman and I think that a ball to announce the engagement would be in order. If you agree to it, we can invite the Katsukis to arrive one week before it, so that you can know one another better.”

 _The Duke of Feltsman and I;_ so Yakov was also in on the whole plan. Funny how one would think an emperor would be the first one to be informed of any wedding plans for him. One would be very much mistaken.

Victor sighed. “Yes, you may go ahead with preparations.”

If he was forced to marry someone he didn’t even know, he might as well be royally rewarded for that.

That finally wrung a smile from his aunt. “As you wish, your Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think we’ll see the Spring Château?? Or maybe the Victoria Gates?? Or, or Saint Peter’s Cathedral? Or —”

“You… seem to know a lot about Petrogrado, Minami,” said Yuuri with a smile. _More than I ever cared to_.

The boy blushed slightly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, it’s just… it sounds wonderful,” he said, continuing to carefully pack Yuuri’s clothes. “I never thought we’d be able to see it one day.”

_Neither did I, much less live there._

Yuuri watched his valet pack his suitcase paying only superficial attention to his enthusiastic chatter. It would’ve been one thing to go to Petrogrado on a diplomatic visit — the gods knew Nihon could only profit from strengthening its diplomatic ties with Rus — but this was something else entirely.

Both he and his sister had been raised in the knowledge that their marriages would have to be beneficial to their country, their own personal choices having little to no bearing on the matter. But years of being used to the idea still didn’t help him with the actual reality of it.

What would Emperor Victor be like?

 

* * *

 

When the last representative of the two Sicilies finally left the room, Victor’s valet opened the door and let Makka back in. As soon as Victor whistled she crossed the room, nails pattering on the marble floor, to join him as he sat on the floor behind his desk with a tired huff. He threw an arm around her, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

Those diplomats were as tiresome as King Michele himself, how was that even allowed? But it was done: Mila was engaged and would sit on the throne of Naples (Queen Sara had seemed just as eager for the match as himself). Another successful alliance concluded. But what was it with that wave of marriages that was suddenly taking his palace?

Meanwhile, the sun was shining bright outside and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, in a rare turn of events for a fall day in Petrogrado. His meeting with the Sicilian diplomats had prevented him from receiving his guests himself at their arrival, so Lilia and Yakov had taken it upon themselves to play hosts for the day. The only detail that had him slightly worried was Yakov’s insistence in dragging cousin Yuri along. But Lilia was certainly more than equal to the task of welcoming the king and his family _and_ reining in Yuri’s eternal foul mood, ensuring he didn't accidentally offend the guests and begin a war.

Of course, no one in their right minds would pay attention to the words of a sullen teenager; but then again, royalty had a funny way of never being caught in the same room as common sense, so who was to say what would or wouldn't offend the Katsukis?

And to him, that was the biggest question mark surrounding the procedures: what were the Katsukis like? Or rather, what was _his_ Katsuki like?

With all his meetings over, he should go meet his guests. They would have dinner together — a lavish affair completely planned by Lilia, with as many courses as the year had months — but he could get it over with and meet them now.

… Or he could enjoy his last day as a free man, and go for a ride around town. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed anything, much less his own city. It would be a shame to let such a beautiful day go to waste.

“Makka,” he whispered, and Makkachin raised her head. He paused; if he said the magical word, it was over.

But what the hell. “Let’s go for a walk?”

 

* * *

 

The view from Yuuri's bedchamber was nothing short of breathtaking. The balcony overlooked most of the Summer Garden, and beyond its walls a vast lake glistened in the morning sun. The Autumn Palace as a whole was one of the most splendid things he'd ever seen ( _too_ splendid, perhaps. What sort of person thinks they need all of that?), and the little he’d seen of the city on his way here had also been impressive — the capital of Rus was much bigger than Hasetsu, and with twice as many monuments and architectural marvels.

A shame he wouldn’t get to see more of it, stuck here in the palace. The Grand Duchess had made it clear that the week ahead of them was thoroughly planned out, and it involved lunches with diplomats, dinners with the nobility, hunting ( _hunting_ , of all things, how uncivilized!), and a quick trip to the Spring Château in the country. The only free time he would have before they met the Emperor for dinner was today, until the end of the afternoon...

…No harm in taking the opportunity, though, was there? It was too beautiful a day to be cooped up inside after all. The Grand Duchess had given them permission to go anywhere they desired on the grounds, so he might as well make it count.

 

* * *

 

“Stop here.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The carriage came to a smooth halt, and Victor immediately got off, Makkachin on his heels. He looked around and barely recognized the scenery; when was the last time he’d set foot in his own forest?

They were still technically on palace grounds despite being outside the northern walls. The entire forest and the lake were still imperial property and not open to the public, but with no one from the palace taking the time to relish in its beauties the area was mostly deserted apart from the royal groundskeeper. There used to be regular hunting parties here, back when his uncle was alive, but Victor was far from keen on the sport and had ignored the forest ever since he’d assumed the throne.

With a leisurely step, he wandered around the trees studiously planted around the road — just enough to cast shade on a summer day but not hide Lilac Lake from view, separated from the main road by a gentle slope. He could take the carriage and had it driven to the western shore, where there was a clean stoney path and a pier. But wasn’t the point of his day off to just enjoy himself? Besides, Makkachin was having far too much investigating each and every tree on their way, it would be a shame to stop her now.

Ignoring his valet’s hushed “Your Majesty!”, Victor went down the slope (more clumsily and less dignified than he would’ve liked to admit) and came to an abrupt stop at the shore, barely avoiding a puddle of mud. Not the smoothest moment of his life, perhaps, but it would do for his last morning of freedom.

How could anyone stay inside when there was all of this waiting right here? Fresh air, silence, sunlight reflecting on the water’s surface and shimmering like diamonds, birds sing— were those clothes?!

As he got closer to the bundle of fabric he’d spotted, Victor’s eyes went wide: men’s clothes, meticulously folded and placed in a neat pile next to a pair of riding boots. He picked the pile up and examined it. They were a gentleman’s, for sure, but who could they possibly—

“Um. Excuse me, sir, but I believe those are my clothes you’re holding.”

Victor turned around, jaw going immediately slack of its volition, fingers gripping the clothes that much more tightly.

The man in front of him was dripping wet from head to toe, wearing nothing but riding pants and a white undershirt — one that was entirely soaked and entirely see-through, mercilessly clinging to the man’s torso. It made sense, really, as it was a nice torso. A _very_ nice torso. Victor could see all of it through the shirt. As someone who’d always had all he asked for, Victor had never had the chance to wish for anything, but there it was. He now wished he could trade places with a certain piece of fabric.

His eyes left the fortuitously wet shirt and followed the man’s hand as it ran through his dark hair, slicking it back and revealing a pair of rich chestnut brown eyes, and a face that was not only unfairly beautiful, but also a tad on this side of flushing. Great, they matched already, Victor could feel his own face reddening.

“Would you be so kind as to… give them back?”

 _Do I have to?_ “Uh, yes, of course! I, uh, I apologize,” he stammered, offering him the bundle with a curt bow. _Why am_ I _bowing?!_

The man didn’t seem to take notice, however, as though royalty bowing to him were a normal occurrence, and gave him a simple “thank you”. He sat on the grass and proceeded to dry his feet, and Lord above even his feet were perfect. One look at those ankles and Victor’s chest constricted in a not unwelcome manner.

_I should NOT be looking at his ankles, what am I doing?!_

He should look the other way, or more probably, bid the man farewell and leave, give him some privacy. But, well. Between the Gorgeous Wet Torso and the Perfect Ankles, propriety was a ship sailed so long ago it was nothing but a small dot in the horizon.

Victor cleared his throat. “I apologize again, sir. I was merely surprised at finding clothes abandoned by the lake.”

The man glanced at him, while fighting one of his boots up his leg; when he moved his head, a few strands of hair fell back on his eyes, and Victor had to resist the sudden urge to smooth them back — and if he were accused of making up excuses to touch the man’s hair, Victor was prepared to face the charges and plead irredeemably guilty.

“Yes, well. As you can see, they were not abandoned,” the man pointed out, with the soft hint of a smile accompanying the words. If he looked like _that_ with the single suggestion of a smile, Victor could only look forward to the havoc a full on smile on those lips would wreak.

But what did come out of those lips instead threw Victor in a for a loop:

“I am sorry to enquire, sir, but um. These are private grounds, so I assume you have permission to be here?”

He said it delicately, hesitantly; Victor would’ve liked nothing more than to delight in the elegant, slightly foreign cadence of his voice, if it weren’t for a small detail: Indecently Gorgeous Man, Whom He’d Definitely Like To Know More Of, didn’t know who Victor was.

And that, that was what his grandfather would’ve called An Opportunity. If Victor revealed himself to be the emperor, Gorgeous Man would melt into a thousand apologies and bows and averting eyes, and that would absolutely not do.

So he smiled and chose an answer that was the sheer truth. “Yes, I do know, sir. But don’t worry, I assure you I have every right to be here. Do you?” he added, because while Gorgeous Man was a sight for sore eyes, he _was_ on imperial grounds, and Victor had never seen him before.

Emerging victorious from the arduous fight with his boots, the man stood up with his clothes in hand and gave him a polite nod. “I do, in fact, as I have been invited to be here.”

 _Oh_. Of course, that explained it: he was part of the royal entourage of the King and Queen of Nihon. One of their advisors, most likely. Were all advisors and noblemen in the Nihon Isles this stunning, or was that Gorgeous Man’s exclusive privilege?

Victor wondered if he should go forward with the question at the tip of his tongue, but Makkachin, having finally followed her owner down the slope, had her own plan — one that involved unceremoniously throwing herself at Gorgeous Man without forewarning. The fact that the man managed to not be thrown back by the sheer force of the impact was nothing but a miracle (the list of adjectives that applied to Makka, all variations of “perfect”, “smart” and “beautiful”, did definitely not include “small”).

“Oh, _oh_ , oh my God, _hi!_ ” said the man, his face lighting up in a devastating smile that was obviously meant to destroy people’s sanity. He held a handful of Makkachin in his arms as if they were about to dance. “Aren’t you gorgeous?!”

Makkachin licked the man’s face like they’d known each other their whole lives, and Victor decided it was time to intervene: she was too shameless.

“Makka, here,” he called. He should show _some_ semblance of proper behavior, at least. The man looked sorry to let her go, which was the only sensible reaction one could have to Makkachin, really. But it still warmed Victor’s heart and tipped the balance in favor of a decision.

“I’m deeply sorry, she… she’s really fond of meeting new people,” he said. But the man shook his head and smiled again.

“No, please, it’s no inconvenience! She’s beautiful,” he said softly.

 _So are you_ , thought Victor. “So tell me, sir. Have you been invited to be anywhere else today?” he asked, with the smile that rarely failed to charm entire delegations. The resulting blush on Gorgeous Man was proof of its infallibility; nevertheless, he still had a confused look on, so Victor continued, “You’re not from Petrogrado, are you?”

“Am I that obvious?” the man raised an eyebrow, amused.

Victor huffed a small laugh. “A bit. But you see, I have most of the day for myself, and was just making my way into town. If you cared to join me, I could show you our capital.”

“Oh!” The man’s eyes went wide, and good _God_ Victor could stare at them all day. At the honey-like tinge they had in the sun, or how they had a way of looking up from under his eyelashes — criminal eyelashes that went on for days — when he hesitated. “Well, I… I would love to see more of the city, but wouldn't like to impose. Surely there are better ways you could employ your day.”

Victor flashed him another smile. “On the contrary. I would like nothing more.”

The man ducked his head, though not fast enough that Victor couldn’t see the deep crimson flush taking over the soft lines of his face and down his (distractingly exposed) neck. It had probably reached his chest, and Victor had to swat away the thought that he wouldn’t mind retracing that path himself with his lips. (That notion would be best entertained later, once he was alone.)

“If you are sure,” the man said quietly. “I only need to… dry off.”

“Oh. Yes, of course!” If he were honest, there was no _of course_ about this. Wet Undershirt had only made Victor’s morning more beautiful, and he would be sad to see it replaced with a less helpful shirt. But it was hardly fair (or appropriate) to ask the man to stay in wet clothes for the rest of the day. “We wouldn’t want you to catch your death,” he completed.

“I’m sure the idea of going swimming seems strange to you,” said the man, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “But I thought it was too beautiful a day to stay inside, and… I didn’t know when I would have another opportunity. I don’t know whether that makes sense, but…” he trailed off with a vague shrug.

Victor stared at him for a beat.

“It makes all the sense in the world,” he affirmed at last.

 

* * *

 

Leaving Makkachin with his valet (the walk would be much too long for her), Victor dismissed him and his driver with considerable effort (despite their insistence, he was pretty sure that, as an emperor, he had the right to walk instead of being driven if he chose to do so), and went back to the lake to wait for his companion. Yuuri also came back _sans_ valet, after putting on dry clothes and, to Victor’s pleasant surprise, spectacles. Those were unexpectedly charming and, in retrospect, also explained why Yuuri had sometimes squinted at him during their conversation.

That Gorgeous Man should be named Yuuri was a sign the Heavens had seen fit to reward him for all his troubles with his cousin Yuri Nikolaievich. Now the name might evoke a delightful afternoon instead of headaches.

“Where are we going first?” asked Yuuri as they began their walk.

“My idea was to follow the road, go through town, where I could show you some of the most interesting monuments, and then go all the way to Swan Lake on the other side of the city,” Victor explained. “We should be there by the middle of the afternoon. I gather this is your first time here?”

Yuuri nodded. “My first time in Rus, as a matter of fact. My family — well, that is…” he seemed flustered for a moment, then quickly recomposed himself, “I mean, people in Nihon as a whole don’t usually choose this country as a travel destination.”

“Yes, well,” Victor shrugged. “We don’t seem to have had the best neighborly relationship so far, do we?”

“That is… about to change, I believe,” said Yuuri, in a somewhat restrained voice.

Of course. As part of the royal entourage, Yuuri would know the real reasons behind this visit. Reasons that Victor would rather forget for the day, so his only answer was a non-committal hum, and was thankful when Yuuri accepted it and changed the subject.

“You know,” said Yuuri, voice laced with amusement, “my valet wouldn’t stop talking about all the monuments of Petrogrado, so I’m afraid my expectations for this afternoon are very high.”

Victor stopped walking and clutched his chest dramatically. “Yuuuuri! I don’t think you comprehend the _pressure_ now. What if I fail in my mission?”

Yuuri smiled, and wasn’t it adorable the way his nose crinkled with it? Or spellbinding, that would also be an accurate description.

“I trust you with it. Please be my guide for the day, Victor.”

 

* * *

 

Victoria Gates, as Victor explained, had been erected half a century before to celebrate the military victories of Empress Victoria (the grandmother after whom he’d been named, but that was a tidbit Victor kept to himself). To Yuuri, the Gates were an architectural marvel, but to Victor they were now the place where he learned that Yuuri was 23, born in Hasetsu, the royal capital of Nihon, and that his favorite food was a pork cutlet bowl typical of his city.

“You have to try it,” he insisted, more passionately than Victor had seen some politicians advocate against war.

“Your description is more than tempting,” Victor said, “but we don’t make it here, how could I try it?”

Yuuri shrugged, the ghost of a blush making another appearance. “You could… visit someday. Nihon, I mean.”

Victor looked at him. “And Hasetsu?”

“That too,” he said, looking away and back at the Gates.

 

* * *

 

The sun was halfway through the sky when they paused their stroll for lunch at Petrogrado’s food market.

“Victor, no,” Yuuri laughed, refusing the pirozhok Victor offered him for the third time. “I won’t allow you to buy me food, it’s unacceptable!”

“ _Please_ _,_ Yuuri” he whined, “you made me promise to try the pork cutlet bowl, but won’t even try the specialty of _my_ city?”

“That is not the same situation,” he pointed out.

Victor gasped. “It absolutely is! You can’t leave Petrogrado without trying the market’s pirozhki! It’s our most respected tradition,” he argued, throwing him a wink.

Yuuri rolled his eyes, trying to pretend his cheeks weren’t dusted with pink. “Very well, but only if we share.”

“It's agreed, then! Oh, and we must have some sbiten as well. No,” he raised a hand before Yuuri could argue about that too, “it’s in the name of tradition. Really, what sort of visitor are you, that would have me dishonor the memory of my forefathers? Honestly, Yuuri,” he tutted at him, and was repaid with a very unattractive snort that he couldn’t get enough of.

Armed with their pirozhki and two cups of sbiten, they settled on a bench by the river. They sat in silence for a minute, idly observing the market activity from afar, and to Victor’s surprise, it was easy to not say anything. Comfortable, even.

The words “comfortable” and “silence” had never belonged in the same sentence before. Being in silence was not something he was ever allowed; people always expected him to say something. Something proper or something charming. Something right.

Yuuri seemed to expect nothing, though. Which was exactly why Victor wanted to give him something — anything.

Taking the pirozhki out of the bag, Victor went through his usual routine with his: tore the top off with the tip of his fingers, to look inside and make sure the filling was well cooked. By his side, Yuuri fearlessly bit into his, as if he’d waited for this moment his whole life.

And because a lifetime of learning how to rule an empire had failed to prepare him for certain things, he was caught utterly off-guard by the noises Yuuri let out.

“Hmmm, Victor,” he moaned, voice deep and low, shooting straight into the pit of Victor’s stomach, “this is _so_ good.”

Victor froze.

“I, I’m. I’m glad you like it,” he said, his words coming out strangled.

“Ugh, _yes._ ”

A violent coughing fit seized Victor, which was just as well; coughing fits were never enjoyable, but this one had the benefit of distracting Yuuri long enough to stop his bedroom noises.

“Victor, oh my God, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he croaked, after taking long sips of his drink. The afternoon had suddenly taken a turn from the delightful and into the area of tantalizing punishment.

 

* * *

 

The visit to the Winter Museum afterwards revealed a Yuuri that, to Victor’s horror, loved Flemish Baroque paintings, and stared at him in silent shock and disapproval as he learned of Victor’s disdain for Rubens. Their brief detour to see the Petrogrado Theater, on the other hand, uncovered nostalgic eyes gazing at a handbill of last season’s Imperial Ballet.

“I took ballet classes as a child but,” Yuuri shook his head, “as I grew up and had to see to other duties, I was forced to give it up.”

Yuuri dancing. That… what sort of family would deprive the world of such a wonder?

“That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to see you dance,” said Victor.

The usual blush-and-dismiss-of-compliments followed, a routine Victor had learned to be a common theme with Yuuri, but he’d absolutely meant it. The subtle charm with which Yuuri moved lent enough to the imagination for him to wonder all the ways that grace could be put to use.

His smallest gestures had Victor fascinated. The way he moved, laughed, snorted when Victor made a joke, and fiddled with his spectacles when he was embarrassed, it all came together in a symphony Victor wanted to hear more of, and was constantly drawn to. He couldn’t say when it happened, only that now, as they left the city on their way to Swan Lake, they were so close their arms and hands brushed against each other at each step of the way — and each time the contact made the breath catch in his throat. He avoided looking at Yuuri, fearing what he would do if their eyes met again in the silence that was both comfortable and loud with things unsaid.

When the lake finally came into view, he heard Yuuri hold his breath and smiled, unsurprised. Swan Lake had always been the beauty and pride of the city.

What did catch him by surprise was Yuuri lacing their fingers together, as if it were the only natural thing to do. Maybe it was, he didn’t seem to spare a single thought to it as he pulled him along, but Victor couldn’t tear his eyes from their intertwined hands.

“You’re… not thinking of going for another swim, are you?” he finally managed.

The smile thrown at him in reply was open, bright, and Victor's chest ached.

“Don’t be silly,” Yuuri laughed, “I just want to see it from up close.”

They directed their steps to the nearest shore. The sun was low in the sky, casting a pink glow on the trees and tearing the water in gold and orange. The swans that gave the lake its name still swam around in tranquility, some of them in pairs. Objectively speaking, Victor knew that was the single most beautiful place in Petrogrado, and that Yuuri’s wonder at it was more than warranted. Personally, it was hard to look at anything right now that wasn’t Yuuri.

Had he known the Nihon Isles had been hiding a treasure such as him, Victor would’ve proposed a diplomatic visit and a more lasting alliance long ago. But it was exactly the impending alliance with Nihon that cast a shadow over his day.

He sat on the grass and looked at the sky. By the position of the sun, it would soon be time to go back. Victor was torn between the necessity of checking the time and the desire to never do it again.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Yuuri quietly, sitting by his side.

“About you,” he answered honestly. “Tell me more about you, Yuuri.”

“Me? I…” Yuuri hesitated. “What else would you like to know?” he said at last.

“Anything.”

Silence surrounded them for a minute, and then Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I, um… I like ice skating in the winter? Though the lakes are not always frozen enough for that at home, so it has been a while.”

Victor took a deep breath and said nothing. The alternative was to blurt out _I love ice skating and you should stay here until the winter so we can go ice skating together._

But it was early days in the fall, and by winter Victor would be long engaged.

“They’re very lucky, is what I was thinking.”

“They?” asked Yuuri, his brows knitting.

Victor kept his eyes trained on the grass in front of him. “The person who will have you for a husband.”

“What made you think of such a thing?” murmured Yuuri.

“It’s a topic that has been brought to my attention recently.”

“Do you have… any prospects at the moment?” Yuuri asked, his voice still coming out in a hush.

“My prospects…” Victor stood up and distractedly picked up a pebble from the grass. After making sure there were no swans nearby, he threw it in the lake, watching it skip three times and drop below the surface of the water.

“Prospects always involve too many different considerations. Financial reasons, dynastic interests, or—” he stopped, and turned around to look at Yuuri again. At how his eyes sparkled brighter than the gold reflecting in the water, and how they had all the life in them that Victor would probably never experience. “They should look like this.”

His eyes widened. “Sorry?”

Victor smiled weakly and sat back again, his thigh brush against Yuuri’s. “If I do marry, they should have eyes like these,” he said. Eyes, he thought, made of rich brown and that truly looked at him when he talked. Before he lost the courage, he lifted his hand and slowly traced the line of his bottom lip, drunk with the sound of Yuuri holding his breath.

“They should have lips like these,” he whispered, “and be as beautiful as you.”

“That…” Yuuri began, but never finished, as Victor’s hand moved from his lips to his jaw line. Victor had spent a significant part of his afternoon wishing he could trail that jaw with kisses. Whether he should was not a thought he was willing to concern himself with right now. Whether he would be allowed to was a different matter.

“Yuuri... ”

A boisterous laugh sent them jolting, and they turned around: a group of young men, university students perhaps, had also chosen Swan Lake to spend the end of their afternoon. They sat in a circle some 20 feet away, teasing and laughing at each other.

Victor turned his attention back to Yuuri, and found him standing up and out of his reach once again.

“We, uh… we should go back,” he mumbled, checking his pocket watch. “It’s getting late.”

He sighed. “Yes, we should.”

 

* * *

 

They took a carriage back to the palace, and the drive was spent in silence, one of a type that Victor couldn’t quite classify. As per an unspoken agreement between the two of them, Victor had the driver leave them near Lilac Lake — as close to it as a street carriage could get anyway.

He hadn’t warned anyone of where he was going or what time he’d be coming back, only dismissed driver and valet with no explanation other than “I’ll walk the rest of the way”. Yuuri, on the other hand, seemed to have set a time with his own servant: there was a boy waiting for him at the shore with a couple of horses.

“That’s my valet,” he said, avoiding eye contact like he’d done during the entire drive back. “So I… I should go. Is anyone coming to meet you?”

Victor shook his head. “No, but it’s all right. It’s a short walk.”

Yuuri nodded, and neither said anything for a while.

Finally, Yuuri took a deep breath. “Victor, thank you for being my guide today. It was… I had a lovely time,” he said, raising his eyes to met him once again. To Victor’s surprise, there was also a smile to be met.

He couldn’t help it — there was no helping anything concerning Yuuri — and smiled back one last time.

“It was my pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

“You seem awfully cheerful tonight,” said Minako, as she accepted Yuuri’s arm. “Was your day out so good?”

Yuuri hummed, smile refusing to leave his face; it had been plastered there for three hours now.

Throughout the evening, he’d only been able to think of his afternoon, reliving each moment and relishing in every single one. He’d barely heard one word said to him — just enough to function and get through their preparations for dinner.

Now, as they made their way to the Roman Room for the meeting with the Emperor, his heart was still too full of Victor for him to pay any real attention to the commentary offered by the Grand Duchess as they moved from hall to hall. She pointed at paintings and rooms, mentioned dates and names, and thank God his parents and Mari were listening, because he certainly wasn’t. Her voice faded as background noise, only breaking into his consciousness here and there.

What really mattered now was: would he see Victor again?

The Grand Duchess pointed at a painting of an intimidating woman with platinum blonde hair. “This is Empress Victoria, the greatest general in our history. She conquered…”

Victor was obviously someone from the palace, so it made sense that their paths would cross again.

“This is the previous emperor, my late husband Alexander…”

And he didn’t seem to know who Yuuri was. How would he react when he found out he was a prince?

“...and here you can see him,” said the Grand Duchess. Yuuri glanced at the direction indicated — and his heart stopped in its tracks.

_Oh._

 

* * *

 

Victor adjusted his cufflinks for the tenth time; he’d never been known to fidget, but he’d never been acquainted with nerves, either. Everything in life had a first, and he could well be excused for being nervous now.

The door to the Roman Room was just down the hall, and that would be it. His life would go through a drastic change, and not the one he would’ve wanted after today. Were he allowed to choose — were he not who he was — he would still be at the shore of Swan Lake, building a different future for himself.

And to think Yuuri didn’t even know who he really was. At first, he hadn’t wanted his status to prevent Yuuri from being himself; afterwards, Victor had simply gotten lost in a thousand moments. But as of tomorrow, there was a high chance that he would meet the King and Queen’s complete entourage, and that would come as a most unwelcome surprise to Yuuri. What a supremely stupid move of Victor.

But selfish as that might be, he couldn’t bring himself to regret their day. At least he would always have those memories.

The majordomo opened the doors to the Roman Room.

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Victor.”

Shoulders straight and smile ready, Victor walked in — and his heart skipped a beat.

By one of the windows, Yakov talked to a couple who had to be the King and Queen of Nihon; on the sofa next to them, two ladies he couldn’t bother to take notice of, because right beside them was Yuuri.

Yuuri. Dressed in official clothes just like the king’s, his eyes an exact copy of the queen’s.

Yuuri, the prince of Nihon.

Victor could feel a new, bigger smile blossoming on his face, heart thundering in his chest at such a rate he could scarcely breathe, much less pay the necessary attention to the introductions. This was beyond Victor’s wildest dreams, and it was only through herculean willpower that he managed to act his part as he should.

Shake hands with the king, kiss the queen’s hand, say all the right words, he followed royal etiquette on muscle memory alone, and then turned his smile on Yuuri once again. Yuuri still looked shocked to see him, pale even, but once he recovered, he was sure they could—

“Your Majesty,” said Lilia, bringing with her one of the ladies who had been on the couch, “may I present to you your fianceé, Princess Mari of House Katsuki.”

The lady curtseyed, and Victor’s eyes found Yuuri, standing behind his sister with horrified eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the song "Ich will dir nur sagen" ("I just want to tell you"), from the musical _Elisabeth_ :  
> "I rule and I guide  
> I overcome feelings  
> Feelings are forbidden to me  
> But when I think of you  
> Every calculation falls silent  
> I'm disloyal to myself for you"
> 
> Because Emperor Franz Joseph I was as much of a goner for his wife as Victor is for Yuuri, tbh.
> 
> Thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/) and [Penelopedulysses](https://penelopedulysses.tumblr.com/) for their beta work and eternal support!!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/thehobbem)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I... must really call your attention to the change in the number of chapters from 2 to 3. There was just *clenches fist* so much pining! I'm sorry, but it looks like we'll all have to buckle up for a little longer before we reach the end!
> 
> And on that note... *opens the curtains*

Back in his bedchamber from his afternoon out, Yuuri had wondered a thousand things and flirted with a multitude of possibilities.

Victor was a member of the palace, that much had been clear; but how high ranking was he? Could his title be enough to make a courtship acceptable? With Yuuri being merely a second son with no throne to his name, his hand wasn’t nearly as sought after as his older sister’s. There was much less at stake, and it wouldn’t be inappropriate for him to marry a duke, for instance.

Or a count, even. His parents (and more importantly, their overly cautious advisors) could well be convinced to let him marry a count.

(At which point he’d cursed himself for thinking about marriage already. _Courtship_ was what he meant. Courtship.)

He’d also wondered how big a shock Victor would have at discovering Yuuri was a prince. Yuuri had carefully kept that information out of reach, for fear Victor would be less than himself once he knew. Would the new knowledge discourage him?

Thus the first hours of the evening had passed, with Yuuri solely occupied with questions such as these. What had not occurred to him, however, was that Victor — his Victor — just might be _Emperor Victor of the Nikiforov Dynasty_ , engaged to Yuuri’s sister, and had neglected to share that information with him. They’d both concealed their identities, yes, but only one of them was engaged to be married, a detail that should have been brought up at some point during the day.

 _“They should have lips like these, and be as beautiful as you.”_ The words still echoed in his ears, Victor’s voice a lonely sound reverberating against every wall in his heart. It was just that, in hindsight, _“I hope they are, as I am currently engaged”_ would’ve been a useful addition.

But that valuable piece of information had never come, and the result was the most uncomfortable dinner Yuuri had ever sat through in his life, where he couldn’t even bear looking at his host. The food could have been laced with needles, such was the pleasure he took in it, and conversation was the one thing he hoped to avoid as much as Victor himself.

(No. Not Victor. _Emperor_ Victor. He should get used to it.)

(Emperor Victor, his future brother-in-law.)

Silence, therefore, was the only thing he was willing to distribute tonight. Yuuri had always not only appreciated, but also mastered the art of keeping his thoughts to himself during state dinners. And given what he had to say to _the Emperor_ was hardly appropriate for polite company, his one goal was to get through dinner as unobserved as possible and retire to his bedchamber.

Which would have been infinitely easier if he hadn’t been placed right next to the Grand Duchess. While she was obliged to make small talk with him as his hostess, she seemed to take it less as a matter of etiquette and more like a personal crusade: there was no answer of his she left unturned, no word she didn’t try to stretch into a memoir, and all he could do was graciously deflect, trying to give her answers that she wouldn’t be able to unfold into a dozen. So far, he had been less than successful.

Not that the rest of the party fared any better. The silence Yuuri longed for was freely given everywhere else around the table. Awkward pockets of conversation burst into it from time to time, but each attempt died as embers unfanned (particularly the ones aimed at Prince Yuri, the emperor’s cousin. Those would be acknowledged with barely contained moodiness and crumble at his feet like nothing). Wary of drawing attention to himself, Yuuri was soon answering Grand Duchess Lilia in semi-whispers.

The exception to the cold hush enveloping the room was his mother. With a tranquility Yuuri had not inherited, and a friendliness Mari would never possess, she talked to the Emperor as if she’d known him her whole life.

(But Victor was so easy to talk to, wasn’t he? So effortlessly charming. That was the problem.)

Yuuri vaguely heard his name just as a foot connected to this calf, with the strength only a prima ballerina was capable of. Swallowing a pained yelp, he glared at Minako on his left (who looked far too innocent for someone who’d just crippled a prince) and turned to the Grand Duchess, who was talking to him once again. No wonder her family never lost any wars: she obviously came from relentless stock.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” he asked, trying to discreetly rub his leg where Minako had kicked him. That would leave a bruise for the ages.

Grand Duchess Lilia raised a brow, and Yuuri straightened up on reflex.

“I said, your father tells me you went out on the city today,” she said, fixing him with a politely inquisitive stare.

He resisted the temptation to snort. How much she was truly interested in knowing about his afternoon outing was up for debate: _not at all_ would be an educated guess, and _regret having ever asked_ was the probable answer if Yuuri told her all of it.

With the entire party back to a long stretch of quiet, he could hear their short exchange causing ripples in the silence, and feel several pairs of eyes locked on him — all the ones within his vision range, at least: Minako by his side, and his father, Princess Mila, Prince Yuri and Mari on the opposite side of the table.

(Yuuri couldn’t tell if one blue set of eyes, at the other end of the sitting arrangement, was also fixed on him, or if he just wished they were.)

( _Don’t look._ )

Yuuri gave the Grand Duchess what he hoped was a cordial smile and kept his voice subdued. “Yes, I did. Your capital is truly marvellous, ma’am.”

“It is true we have some architectural wonders,” she answered, her voice losing some of its High Inquisitor inflexion. “Which ones did you see?”

Visions of a sunset over Swan Lake flashed before his eyes.

“I… uhh… I— Victoria Gates,” he said abruptly, voice going up an octave, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, Victoria Gates. They are stunning, ma’am, I am impressed.”

“Oh!” Princess Mila leaned forward on the other side of the table. “Aren’t they beautiful? They were built by our grandmother Victoria!”

 

_“These were erected by Empress Victoria, to celebrate her military victories,” said Victor, with a grand gesture at the gates._

_Yuuri was dutifully impressed. The construction was utterly remarkable, with so many details it was impossible to notice them all at first glance. But what really caught his attention were the words chosen by Victor._

_“You mean to tell me someone called_ _Victoria made these to celebrate her victories?”_

_Victor shrugged with a smile. “Yes, well. She cannot be accused of having been inconsistent, at the very least.”_

_“Indeed. So how common are names that mean ‘victory’ here in Rus?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Just that between an empress Victoria, the Victoria Gates and a Victor, one does wonder about running themes,” he teased._

_Victor stared at him for a beat, and smiled — that absurd smile in the shape of a heart that had been twisting Yuuri’s every which way since that morning._

 

Their grandmother Victoria. Of course. Yuuri was so stupid.

“Yes, so I’ve been told,” he answered.

A heavy thud on the other end of the table turned everyone’s heads, and Yuuri stretched his neck to take a look around Minako: a servant was already efficiently cleaning up the mess a spilled glass of wine had made on the linen tablecloth, in front of a crestfallen Victor.

“I’m deeply sorry,” Victor said to Mari, sitting at his left, and whose napkin had also been ruined in the accident. Another servant provided her with a new one so quickly it almost looked like sleight of hand.

“It is of no consequence,” she assured him quietly, with a slight smile. Yuuri looked at her for the first time since dinner had begun, and his chest twinged with a pang of sympathy. She seemed to like all of this as much as him. Her modest smiles and muted voice told Yuuri a fully realized story of perfectly disguised frustration.

His eyes slid from her to Victor — and found Victor’s focused on him. Yuuri hastily sat back again and kept his gaze fixed on his food for the remainder of dinner; he didn’t dare raise his eyes again, despite all the times he could discern someone at the other end of the table leaning forward and trying to catch a glimpse of him.

Nor did he look when, hours later, after Victor had kissed his sister’s hand and bid her a good night, he could still feel a pair of eyes following him down the hall and into his private chambers. Weighing on him like an unshakeable presence at the back of his mind, and a welcome guest that would never stay.

 

* * *

 

It took one look at the Summer Garden, radiant in the morning sun, for Yuuri to close the curtains and throw himself on the bed; the less he saw of Victor and Mari walking arm in arm around the garden and right under his balcony, the better.

After breaking his fast quicker than Makkachin had eaten her food, Yuuri had gone back to his bedchamber as soon as protocol allowed him, claiming a headache. Which was honestly not that far-fetched a truth.

If dinner had gone on mostly silently, breakfast today had tried to compensate for it, to Yuuri’s despair. He’d been forced to sit through a detailed debate on “Saint Peter’s Cathedral versus the Amaterasu Shrine” for the wedding, and all the ways in which the morning light filtering through the stained glass in the cathedral would augment the couple’s striking beauty. And while Yuuri hadn’t visited the temple in honor of Saint Peter, he could well visualize rays of sun breaking into a dozen different rainbows and sprinkling down the aisle — reflecting off perfect platinum silver hair and dancing in eyes that insisted in seeking Yuuri’s, but wouldn’t insist for much longer.

He rolled on the bed and buried his face on the pillow. Why was he so stupid? He’d gone to sleep and woken up thinking about Victor, while Victor himself had seemed perfectly content with his current situation today. He’d donned a charming, handsome smile throughout the morning, and when he’d used it to invite Mari to walk around the garden, Yuuri had taken it as his cue to flee.

How would he get through the entire week, when he could barely stand half a day?

Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to tell how long had passed with him like that, lost in his head, when a knock on the door interrupted those thoughts. “Your Highness.”

Recognizing Minako’s voice, Yuuri didn’t bother getting up, or even raising his head. “Come in.”

“Your High— Yuuri!” she said, voice switching from respect to worry in a second. He heard the door click shut and her light steps getting closer, before he felt the bed dip slightly next to him. “Yuuri, are you all right?”

Her hand was already feeling his forehead before he mumbled he was fine, voice coming muffled from the depths of the pillow. “I’m just… I wanted to be alone.” Again, not a lie. Was that how Victor had gotten through their afternoon together? With half-truths?

“Well, I’m sorry to say you won’t be able to. The Emperor is here.”

“The— what?!” Yuuri’s head snapped up. “ _Who_ is here?”

“Emperor Victor,” she repeated, watching him intently. “For the hunting trip.”

Right, the hunting trip. Formerly the one thing Yuuri was looking forward the least in this entire trip, that now paled in comparison to spending any sort of time in Victor’s company beyond the meals.

“But what do you mean, ‘he’s here’?” he asked, brows drawn together in confusion. “Here where?”

Minako clicked her tongue. “In the antechamber, of course, where else? He came to accompany you to the hunting grounds.”

“Me?!” God, what was Victor thinking? He was either more inconsiderate than Yuuri had ever been willing to think him, or… more reckless. “Minako, I… you know I hate hunting, and besides, this headache won’t leave me, so… perhaps it’s best if I stay in today. I’m sure Mari can keep him company,” he tried, not fully managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he’d hoped he would.

“Well, that is unfortunate!” she replied, giving his hand a light tap, with so chipper a look that it had Yuuri baffled. “I already assured him you are going, so you really have no other choice.”

“I — what?” His eyes widened. “You… Minako, why would you? I would really rather not,” he said, frowning. Reminding others of their duty to obey him was something he was loath to do, as that seemed far from the best route to inspire loyalty. But when it came to Minako, it did tempt him from time to time. “If you had asked me before— ”

“I might have let you get away with not going,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So good thing I didn’t, really. Yuuri,” she continued, this time seriously, “this is important. As the emperor himself said, you are to become his brother-in-law. There is nothing more natural or desirable than you becoming friends. It’s in the two countries’ best interests.”

Yuuri looked away. He hated when Minako made sense, as it usually meant he didn’t.

With a sigh, he got up from the bed and examined himself in front of the mirror, straightening his clothes to look presentable once more; his hair, however, was beyond salvation for the moment. He hadn’t combed it back this morning, and after almost an hour of turning this way and that in the bed, it stuck out in every direction. It wouldn’t do to look disheveled in front of Victor, of all people, so he flattened it with his hand to the best of his ability and went out in the antechamber.

“...and remember not to jump on him again, Makka,” was the first thing Yuuri’s ears caught as he opened the door. “Don’t you know it’s— oh,” he stopped talking as Yuuri walked into the room.

They stared at each other. Victor looked just like yesterday, that is, every inch a fever dream that Yuuri had hoped to catch, and then failed to let go of.

Victor’s eyes went round at seeing him, going from Yuuri’s face to his hair and staying there — of course, Yuuri looked like a mess. He hastily tried to comb his hair into acquiescence with his fingers, but was sure he’d achieved nothing whatsoever with that.

“I’m sorry, I uh… I was lying in bed, I didn’t expect anyone to call for the rest of the morning,” he said apologetically. Victor said nothing for a second or two, lips slightly parted and still watching him almost as if in a daze.

The only sound in the room was Makkachin’s tail thumping happily on the floor, and the one thing keeping her in place was Victor’s hand mechanically holding her leash. A gentle cough from Minako broke the spell, and Victor blinked.

“No, not at all, I — no need to apologize,” he said, throwing him a smile, and Yuuri bristled: it was the same elegant smile he’d given everyone today, but there was something… off about it. Frozen. Like something to be looked at but never approached, and as different from yesterday’s smiles as night and day.

Where had Victor’s heart gone to?

Yuuri looked away. “Lady Okukawa tells me you’ve come to accompany me to the hunting grounds?”

“If you’ll have me. Have my company!” Victor added in the same breath. Yuuri didn’t answer immediately. That he had to go was clear enough, no matter his personal desires and resentments on the subject.

But _how_ he would go was entirely dependent on him: he could go unwillingly, and sour not only his trip, but also his relationship with an important political ally and future brother-in-law… or he could try and make the best of it. Put the past behind them and forget what a good, albeit brief, past it was. Forget the future he’d dared to envisage, and work with the present he’d been dealt.

“On one condition,” he said. At Victor’s start, he added with a small smile, “That you let the best girl in Petrogrado come with us.”

As if she knew Yuuri meant her, Makkachin’s ears perked up. Victor’s mouth quirked up in amusement and without a word, he let go of the leash. She was on Yuuri within a second and _God_ she was huge. It took him some mental preparation and both feet planted firmly on the floor to receive the full impact of Makka’s joy.

Victor might have to choose who he liked best based on dynastical considerations, but Makkachin was beholden to no one in that respect, as she made a point of showing by covering Yuuri’s face in slobber.

He had that comfort, at least.

 

* * *

 

“She’s not coming?!”

His mother shook her head. “I’m afraid Mari’s not feeling well today, dear. The trip was too much for her.”

Yuuri squinted. Mari was stronger than all the family put together, plus a pair of oxen. She would outlive them all, but a few hours of crossing the channel and a dinner had made her ill?

When his mom refused to meet his eyes, he knew: Mari hadn’t wanted to come. And once Mari made up her mind, there was no power in this world that held any sway over her. He glared at Minako, who was busy adjusting her hat and ostensibly not listening; funny how she had conveniently left that piece of information out of their conversation earlier.

“Mila is keeping her company,” said the Duke of Feltsman, “and she’ll have all the assistance she needs. Your Majesty, if you’ll do me the honor?”

His mother took the hand he offered, her placid smile a stark contrast to the duke’s gruff countenance (Yuuri had come to the conclusion that was the only one he had). Looking around, he realized the hunting parties were already formed: his mother and Minako would go with the duke, while his father would go with the Grand Duchess. Which only left Yuuri with one option.

He refrained from sighing when someone stopped at his side. No need to look to know Victor was there; the unnecessary proximity was more than telling, as well as Makka’s “woof!”. But if he dreaded another afternoon alone with Victor, the Grand Duchess was here to unknowingly come to his rescue.

“Victor, take Yura with you and Prince Yuuri. We’ll meet here for lunch,” she commanded, wisely choosing to not dignify the young prince’s annoyed huff — or Victor’s wide stare — with an answer and walk away.

Silence fell over their small party, as all the others had already left. Victor mumbled “your wish is my command, I suppose”. With a final, unnecessary adjustment to his gloves, Victor threw them another frozen smile: “Shall we?”

Yuuri slowly turned his head: Prince Yuri was scowling at Victor, before etiquette training took over and he changed to a politely blank expression. “After you,” he said glacially. Makka was the only one in the party who looked happy to be there, her tail moving incessantly like a broken pendulum trying to make time go by faster.

This would be a fun afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Lilia had the _worst_ ideas sometimes.

Why should he take Yura with him? Not to help with diplomacy, that was for sure; not for the fun he had with hunting, either, as that was one of the only things he agreed with Victor on: they both hated it. At least Mila wasn’t here as well, or Yura would’ve turned this hunting party into a festival of “shut up, you hag!” within its first five minutes. Good thing she’d offered to keep Princess Mari company.

In fact, good thing Princess Mari felt ill-disposed today. It was enough for him to have to keep Yura in check; if he had to do that on top of paying the princess the attention he was supposed to, there would be none to give Yuuri.

Victor peered at him out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri with his hair down was quite the distraction, and with sunlight trickling through the trees, his eyes were the exact tone of honey Victor wouldn’t mind having a daily dose of in the morning (and afternoon and evening). How could someone be that beautiful from all their angles, in all possible configurations? Seeing him in his antechamber a couple of hours ago, with rumpled hair and clothes, had stirred a variety of visuals in Victor’s imagination that would’ve been more than welcome under any other circumstances.

Yuuri still didn’t make a lot of eye contact, but seemed to have relented into detached courtesy towards him. Which was worse, in a way. Resentment meant a history they both had to grapple with; polite indifference conveyed that only Victor was left struggling with the bones of a story he neither wanted to forget nor was able to keep.

They could at least talk about it one last time, before they were forced to remain silent forever; with Yura sullenly walking various steps ahead of them, this would be as good a time as any.

“Yuuri…” he said, keeping his voice low, “I feel I owe you an apology.”

Yuuri stopped in his tracks for an imperceptible moment, before he continued and his expression went back to distant civility.

“Not at all, Your Majes— uhh, Victor,” he said, bowing slightly. Victor almost winced. “I also chose not to disclose my identity, so I am equally to blame. There is no need for you to apologize.”

Yura had stopped walking, waiting with Makka for them to catch up. As they got close, he heard Yuuri’s last words and raised an eyebrow.

“Apologize for what?” he said, looking suspiciously at them, before he rolled his eyes. “Tell me this idiot hasn’t insulted you already, Katsuki; the visit has hardly started.”

Victor stared at him in shock. He’d spent the last few years being called nothing but “idiot” by his cousin, but that was in private. Now it extended to polite company as well?!

On his left, Yuuri snorted — and Victor’s heart missed a beat. There it was. The tiny, ugly and thoroughly endearing snort he’d heard so many times the previous day and allowed himself to be lost to.

“Nothing of the sort, Yura. Your cousin is just taking his hosting duties too seriously by apologizing to me for my mistakes. That is all,” Yuuri said with a smile, a painfully perfect picture of propriety. He seemed compl— wait.

“Did you just call him ‘Yura’?” Victor asked. And Yura had called him ‘Katsuki’. Where had such familiarity come from?!

“Yura was kind enough to sit by me after dinner last night, and we had a very interesting conversation about ice skating,” Yuuri explained, ruffling Makka’s ears as she came to him for attention.

Right, Victor had vaguely noticed them sitting together. They’d all gone over to the Sapphire Room after dinner, and while Lilia had forced him and Princess Mari to sit together, he’d seen Yuuri quietly retreat to a corner of the room with a book. At some point during the evening Yuri had joined him, but with Lilia breathing down his neck, that was the last Victor had been able to glimpse. Only to find out now that Yura had stolen from him the conversation about ice skating with Yuuri; Victor was to have not even that.

“You were too busy making eyes at his sister to notice. Some host you are,” Yuri mumbled, and _oh_ that was so unfair. It was so unfair Victor felt himself losing his balance on the verge of hysteria. Had he been allowed, Victor would’ve looked at nothing but Yuuri all night long. And there would have been no hunting trip — for everyone else, yes, but not for them. He would’ve stayed at the palace with Yuuri for the entire day and basked in how gorgeous and thoroughly perfect he was. And they—

“So, are we going to look for a stag now? Lord knows we must have missed thousands at the pace we’re going,” complained Yuri.

“Well...” said Yuuri, his voice trailing off into eloquent reticence. When Victor looked back at him, he was clumsily fixing the rifle at his back, chosen for him from Lilia’s late husband’s personal armory. “Truth be told, I uh, I’ve never been one much for hunting. So maybe you two should go ahead and—”

“You don’t hunt?” Yuri interrupted him brusquely.

“I’m sorry to have deceived you, I assure you it was—”

“Perfect!” He turned to Victor. “We don’t have to continue the charade, do we?”

Relieved, Victor shook his head with a small smile. If Yuuri of House Katsuki wasn’t one surprise after another. How many royals would pass up the opportunity to spend an entire morning hunting in imperial woods?

“I’m sorry to say we have deceived you, on our turn,” he said, putting away his own rifle, and even Makka sat down, as if aware the farce was over. “Neither of us is any more partial towards hunting than you are. But Lilia planned it, and so…” he finished with a shrug. Yuuri eyed them skeptically, as if doubting their words, but one vehement shake of head from Yuri put an end to that.

“Well, then. There’s no need for us to be here any longer,” said Yuri. “Let us go back.”

Yes, they could. Or… again, an Opportunity.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Yura? I’m sure Yuuri would still like to see the woods. He doesn’t know them as well as we do, and would probably find something to interest him.”

Yuri huffed. “All right. Try not to get too bored, Katsuki!” And with that, he took a small path on the right, so hidden by foliage Victor hadn’t noticed it at first, and left them alone again.

They stood side by side without a word, their only companion the cheerful thumping of Makka’s tail on dry leaves. When the sound of Yuri’s steps disappeared completely, Yuuri suddenly turned to him.

“I don’t know if Mari mentioned it to you, but… I’m to be her advisor when she moves here. My parents… decided I should come, to serve as an ambassador between the two countries and to, well, to keep her company, at least during her first year.”

“Ahh… yes, of course,” said Victor mechanically. “Living in a foreign country can’t be easy.”

Yuuri was to live here. For an entire year. Right under Victor’s roof, where Victor could see him _every day_. See, and never touch.

“Exactly,” said Yuuri, as if he’d come into the possession of mind-reading abilities, “so I thought we should probably… put the past behind us, start anew? For… for the sake of this alliance.”

 _I have to, or I won’t make it out of this first year alive_.

“Absolutely,” he said, giving Yuuri his hand to shake. And if Yuuri’s hand still felt as right in his as yesterday, as fitting as a missing puzzle piece, well. No one needed to know.

 

* * *

 

“Well, at least this place is more sensible,” said Mari, looking out the window of the carriage. With the Spring Château coming into view, Yuuri had to agree: it was a much simpler affair than the imperial residence, with a discreet neoclassical elegance that presented a welcome change from the busy baroque style of the Autumn Palace.

Their stay at the Emperor’s country residence was to be a short one — just enough for the visitors to meet some of the nobility in a more unofficial setting and appreciate the country scenery. It was also, Yuuri guessed, a chance to impress the King and Queen of Nihon, and further convince them of how great an alliance this was to be.

A failed effort, as far as Mari was concerned: she was beyond unimpressed by her future dominions. “It’s all too much,” she’d complained last night, with an aside under her breath of “ _he’s_ too much.” Yuuri hadn’t asked who she meant; it went without saying, and broke his heart enough without bringing names into it. Emperor Victor could, indeed, be a little overwhelming: too charming, too suave, with too many dazzling smiles that never stopped coming. Too courtly to everybody and no one in particular.

 _Victor,_ on the other hand, could be so much more being so much less — walking a fine line between the awkward and the endearing, with laughter those palace walls had likely never heard and smiles made of warmth and shaped like hearts. Smiles who knew exactly who they were aimed at.

It would be just a matter of time before Mari got acquainted with the Victor beyond the Emperor façade. Yuuri couldn’t conceive of a marriage that didn’t peel layer after layer of court etiquette to expose the naked human being underneath. And once she was familiar with the person rather than the thearicals of the title, it was inevitable that she would come to love him.

And Yuuri would be there to watch it happen.

He stopped himself from sighing and abandoned the view through the window, sinking against the cushions of his seat. This was going to be one long year.

 

* * *

 

The trip to the château had originally been planned for three days, but Victor had insisted that it be cut short to two. And despite Lilia’s insistent questions, he’d refused to share his plans for when they got back to the capital on Thursday, and made the arrangements on his own.

The eagerness to leave the country palace came from a combination of the surprise he had in mind for Thursday, as well as the fact that the sheer magnitude of the Autumn Palace made it easier for him to hide. Here in the country, however, there were no excuses — no paperwork that needed attending to, no stealing away to his private chambers when it was all too much. The relative intimacy of the château brought them necessarily together.

And Lilia, meanwhile, was not to be trifled with. She’d come to the country fully armed with a thousand strategies to impose him on the princess.

Those included a long walk in the country with Princess Mari on his arm (during which Victor barely got a glimpse of Yuuri, in a fitted dark-blue waistcoat and impeccably tailored buckskin breeches that hugged his legs too well for Victor’s sanity) and an afternoon tour of the library (the French windows of which allowed him a long look at Yuuri and Yura on their way to a swim. And a post-swim Yuuri was not a vision to be easily forgotten, as Victor well knew). He might have felt guilty for his more pointed interest in the view from the window than in the room he was supposed to show, if the princess weren’t so utterly indifferent to all of it. Or to him, as a whole.

It was only late at night, after everyone else had long retired to their rooms, that he was freed from his host and fiancé duties. The only sound to be heard in the whole place was his own padding down the halls — strangely not echoed by Makka’s. Where was she?

He went from room to room looking for her, finding nothing but silence and shadows. And just as he made up his mind to continue his search down in the kitchens, a hushed voice reached his ears, coming from behind one of the doors he had yet to inspect. Looking closer, he detected a faint light filtering under the library door.

Opening it as quietly as he could, he was struck by the sight of Yuuri, sitting on Victor’s personal armchair. With only one lamp lit on the side table, he held a book with one hand and slowly caressed Makka with the other, softly reading to her while she reposed her head on his knees:

 

_And when in hardship_

_I beg that you believe and_

_Dream of days to come_

 

A creaky floorboard suffering with Victor’s weight interrupted the reading, and Yuuri’s head shot up. At the sight of him Yuuri stood up in a flash, causing Makkachin to let out a small betrayed whine.

“I, uh… I’m sorry, I didn’t wish to intrude. I just…” Yuuri looked at him and then away, at a random shelf on the wall. “I couldn’t sleep. But had I known you wished to use your library, I—”

“No no no no, that is… quite all right,” Victor assured him quickly. “I was simply looking for my runaway girl,” he joked, tapping his thigh to call Makka to him.

Yuuri ducked his head with a small laugh, and didn’t it sound just like a bell in the night? “She followed me to my chambers, but… obviously, I didn’t let her in. When I left an hour later, she was still there. I thought I might as well keep her company.”

 _Makka, you little genius_ , thought Victor, with a sideways glance at her.

“Keep her company and… read to her?” he said aloud, and was rewarded with a furious blush claiming Yuuri’s face, one that not even the dim light in the room could disguise — one that could drive men to madness. “Were you perchance reading Hatano’s—”

“ _To Live Only Once_ , yes” said Yuuri, smiling a little. “I confess I was surprised to find his works here. I wouldn’t have supposed it possible.”

Victor took the armchair next to his, gesturing for Yuuri to resume his seat. “Honestly, what kind of library would be one that _didn’t_ have one of the greatest Nihon poets?” asked Victor. “What, you think we don’t know him here?” he laughed, seeing Yuuri’s raised eyebrows.

“It did cross my mind,” said Yuuri, amused.

Victor shook his head. “You do us great injustice. His _Life and Love_ is one of my favorite books, even if…” he hesitated. What an admission to make; but at this time of night, no confession would be too unthinkable. “...Even if I don’t quite understand it at times.”

Yuuri didn’t answer right away; instead, he fixed him with a look that spoke volumes, in a language Victor knew not how to translate; as if each page of everything he didn’t understand could be found in those eyes.

At last, Yuuri smiled again. “ _Life and Love_ can be hard to understand, I agree. But it’s quite simple when one looks closely.”

“Would you indulge me?” Victor blurted out.

“Sorry?”

“You… read to Makka,” he said, awkwardness weighing on his every word. “So I was wondering if you would mind having… one more person in your audience.”

Yuuri opened his mouth, and closed it again. And there it was, as if on cue: that pink dusting his nose, making him look every bit like the heartbreak he was. “I would not, but… I’m afraid my reading is far from agreeable.”

Part of Victor listened to him — and part of him wondered how much more intense the blush would get should Yuuri be kissed.

(And he _should_ be kissed. Often, and by someone who couldn’t get enough of him.)

To distract himself from such thoughts, Victor busied himself with Makkachin, scratching behind her ears as he replied, “Quite the contrary. I found it rather engaging.”

The resulting silence stretched on, filling every crack between them and every dark corner of the room. Victor was about to raise his head and apologize for being too forward when he heard pages being turned.

“I’ll… continue from where I stopped, then,” Yuuri whispered, leafing through the book, their armchairs so close Victor could brush their arms together if he chose to. Another temptation to resist, among the thousands that presented themselves in the form of Yuuri every day.

And it was barely resisting his impulses that Victor closed his eyes and listened to Yuuri’s voice, more powerful than any siren song.

 

_And when in hardship_

_I beg that you believe and_

_Dream of days to come_

 

_When all our moments_

_Resound of recompense and_

_Thunderous applause_

 

If he should have nothing else, he could at least have the sound of Yuuri’s _Life and Love_ guide him through the night.

 

* * *

 

Their second and last day at the Spring Château was to end in an informal ball. “A few select friends only,” the Grand Duchess Lilia had said in the morning.

 _A few?_ , thought Yuuri, observing the at least one hundred people currently crowding the Blue Pavilion.

“They must be blessed with a great number of friends,” his father said mildly, and Yuuri almost choked on his drink. With his father’s unrivaled skill in meaning the absurd in earnest, whether he was being serious or not was always anyone’s guess.

Select friends or not, the guests tonight were certainly ones the Grand Duchess thought worth knowing; Yuuri and his family had spent the entire first half of the night being introduced to new people whose names they didn’t always succeed in pronouncing.

Now, though, every other guest had given in to the waltz played by the orchestra. Yuuri would have done the same, if he hadn’t been so taken aback by what had to be the biggest surprise of the night for him: the Grand Duchess and the Duke of Feltsman waltzing together, and doing it with such unsuspected elegance, such proficiency, that Yuuri wouldn’t have believed it had he been told.

The number of couples dancing also included Victor, moving lithely around the room with Mari in his arms, almost as if he and the music notes were one. A good thing for Mari, who had never been one for dancing, but only one more thing to add to Yuuri’s despair. If a Victor who was fond of Yuuri’s favorite poet was misery enough, a Victor who danced like a sylph was Yuuri’s worst nightmare come to life. All he could manage was force himself to look away — only for his eyes to be immediately drawn back to Victor whenever he got a glimpse of him, like a most inconvenient magnet.

Minako came to his rescue with a tap him on his shoulder: “You should find a partner yourself, Your Highness,” she said with a wink.

Accepting the truth in that, Yuuri stretched his hand out to her with a smile. “Only if you’ll do me the honor, my lady.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she teased, taking his hand. And that, at least, was distraction enough: dancing allowed him to be more of himself than he could be on a regular day, when court duty and etiquette did nothing but demand and stifle. State dinners and diplomatic visits belonged to the life of House of Katsuki, but music and dance were Yuuri’s alone. And what better partner than the Royal Ballet’s former prima-ballerina?

(Well. Perhaps one who didn’t fight him for the lead.)

They led each other with the ease that only old familiarity could bring, but the piece came to an end much sooner than either of them would’ve liked. As the couples around them rearranged themselves, he was ready to ask Minako to be his partner for the next dance as well when a voice by his ear made him nearly jump:

“Would you do me the honor, Yuuri?”

He turned, goosebumps riding on his skin, to look into Victor’s face — too close to his, his breath on Yuuri’s neck having performed a dangerous number on his peace of mind.

At a glance, Yuuri found a stone-faced Mari waltzing with Victor’s cousin, the Duke of Popovich. Behind him, Minako sounded ecstatic.

“If you’ll excuse me, _that_ gives me a perfect opportunity to test Prince Yuri’s dancing skills,” she announced, and Yuuri contained a smile. There was no doubt as to who would come out victorious in a battle between Minako’s wits and Yura’s short temper. It would be wise not to be anywhere near when it happened.

With a curtsey to both of them, Minako went in search of her intended victim, and Victor offered him a hand and a smile turned heart. There was no reality in which Yuuri would refuse either, and he soon found himself in his arms, floating in time with a waltz that could never be enough.

After a beat of silence, Victor murmured good-humoredly, “Your sister doesn’t seem too fond of the duke.”

Yuuri bit back a smile. If he and Mari had both thought everything in the imperial court was excessive, that was because they had not yet met the Duke of Popovich. Clad in mourning clothes and wearing a doleful countenance at all times, he was far from the sort of stimulating company they would have wished for. His single contribution to the general conversation so far had been a litany of sighs and funereal comments on the fickle nature of women. Mari rolled her eyes so often at his lamentations that Yuuri had come to fear she would convulse before the end of the night.

“He is… certainly unique,” said Yuuri carefully, getting a brief look at Mari and the duke; she looked unperturbed by his conversation, but the gods only knew what murderous thoughts she was suppressing right now. Too many, if Yuuri knew her at all.

Victor laughed out loud, just the laughter that Yuuri had missed. “Cousin Georgi has never had any qualms in sharing his love woes, which doesn’t make for the liveliest company,” he finished with a wink.

The smile Yuuri felt take over needed little bidding other than Victor’s clear amusement. “Yes, I’m afraid it does not. So he’s nursing a broken heart?”

Victor spun them around, momentarily taking the lead from Yuuri. “When isn’t he? But it seems he had proposed marriage, and lady Anya had agreed to it at first; only, her father had his own choice of husband for her.”

“Well, that… wouldn’t be the lady’s fault,” said Yuuri.

“No, but if Georgi is to be believed — and I don’t say he is, mind you — she was too eager to comply, and too ready to forget her promise to him.”

“Some people are quick to forget, I suppose,” he replied before he could stop himself, the cold in his voice betraying him. Victor turned serious at that, his eyes looking for Yuuri’s in search of further comment. When none came, he said lightly:

“You would be surprised to find that is not always the case.”

Wrapping his arms around him more firmly and bringing him a little closer, Victor suddenly took him into a graceful, bold glide, weaving through the throng of dancers as if they did not exist, and taking Yuuri’s breath with him in the process.

Heart pounding in his chest, looking for a way out of what was too much pain engulfed in too much pleasure, Yuuri’s thoughts went by in a blur. This — these arms, these eyes that saw him too clearly, that voice that sent him reeling at the smallest word — this was everything he’d dreamed of having, one afternoon a lifetime ago.

“Do you wish me not to forget, Yuuri?” asked Victor quietly.

He could barely listen to the music now, moving on sheer instinct, his eyes focusing on Victor’s mouth. “I wish for nothing,” he said, voice close to disappearing to his own ears.

“That is not possible,” Victor replied. “Everyone wishes for something.” He turned them a little so that Yuuri was now looking at the Grand Duchess, still dancing with the Duke of Feltsman.

“Lilia and Yakov, for example, wish me to be a living legend, an emperor that will bring our empire to glories never even seen before.”

Expertly, like Yuuri was his to do whatever he desired with — perhaps he was — Victor turned them around again, and they wove smoothly and fast through the crowd. “My generals wish me to be a more war-inclined person, while my advisors wish me to be easier to move around, like a pawn on a chessboard.”

Yuuri frowned. That was an excessive amount of wishing, none of which sounded like something his Victor would ever be.

“Even your parents, I’m sure, wish me to be a good husband to your sister, and a generous king to their people when it is my turn,” he said, with the hint of something too bitter to be counted as a smile on his lips. “So my question is: what do _you_ wish me to be, Yuuri?”

_Mine._

In one swift move, Yuuri took the lead from him, excessively aware of every point of contact, desperately ignoring how much he _wanted_.

“I wish you to be Victor, and nothing else,” he said, the only answer he could give without saying more than was appropriate; the one single truth he would willingly part with. “That would be enough for me,” he added resolutely.

He watched Victor’s eyes grow slightly wider, and a smile blossom on those lips that haunted his imagination.

The music, and their dance, came to a close; under the temporary blanket of privacy the crowd granted them, Victor brought Yuuri's hand to his lips and placed a kiss on his ring finger, lingering there for one heartbeat too long.

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” he whispered. Certain the whole pavilion could hear his heart on his throat, and not daring to answer for fear of what he might say, Yuuri gave him a slight bow and turned away.

Every interaction with Victor brought him an equal share of agony and elation, and Yuuri would do best to avoid them altogether. But there could to be no preventing his words from taking root in everything he wished to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/) and [Penelopedulysses](https://penelopedulysses.tumblr.com/) for their beta work! *blows kisses at betas*
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/thehobbem)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... will... call your attention to the change in number of chapters again. But it's the very last time, I swear to god!
> 
> Art by the amazing [iruutciv!](http://iruutciv.tumblr.com)

As the carriage drove away from the château, Yuuri stole the occasional look back at the country palace slowly disappearing in the horizon. Ahead, there was only the anticipation of the Autumn palace, with its suffocating atmosphere and the rules they had been briefly allowed to forget.

And above all else, there was the royal ball that was to take place in only two days, where the engagement would be announced. Before they left Nihon, Yuuri had been less than enthusiastic about said engagement, a commitment Mari had no choice but to bow to. Now, however, it affected both of them, and the secrecy of his part did nothing to mitigate his bitterness.

Not that Mari’s public role in it lessened any of _her_ bitterness.

“One more day at the château would have been welcome,” she said by his side, eyes closed as she sunk back in the cushions of her seat, as though the mere thought of being back at court tired her. Yuuri well shared the sentiment. “Why should he insist that we come back a day earlier, and not even tell us why? This is... I need a cigarette,” she sighed.

On the seat opposite hers, Minako raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

The reproach had hardly any heat behind it. After years of scolding and begging, their parents had not been able to dissuade her from smoking, and the compromise eventually reached was for Mari to smoke in secret, and for their parents to pretend they did not know.

“Mother is not marrying some flamboyant foreigner she met yesterday,” Mari replied grumpily. “I deserve all the tobacco in Rus and Nihon combined.”

Yuuri quietly agreed. Despite their parents’ marriage having been arranged, they had been lucky enough to fall in love with each other during their engagement. Such a blessing didn’t befall many royal couples, and Yuuri wondered if it would come to pass between Victor and his sister.

On one hand, he couldn’t fathom someone being constantly exposed to Victor and not loving him — on the other, knowing Mari as well as he did, it was hard to entertain the fantasy that she would one day be madly infatuated with Victor. She would come to appreciate him, yes, and most likely become an invaluable partner to him. But love? That seemed too far fetched a possibility.

As for Victor… how could Yuuri wish for his sister to marry someone who loved her, when that someone was Victor? How could he dream of a Victor who belonged to him and no one else, when Mari was to be by his side?

The rest of the trip back to Petrogrado ran mostly in silence, sporadically broken by Minako’s brief comments on the weather or the road, and made heavier by the insistence of her eyes on Yuuri when she thought he wasn’t looking.

 

* * *

 

“The opera?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yes, that was why he thought it was a good idea to snatch us away from the château, just to take us to some old opera he likes. Who honestly _enjoys_ the opera?!”

Torn between laughing and outright changing the subject, Yuuri caved in with a smile. “I do. I love it, in fact.” Seeing Yuri’s look of utter disbelief, he insisted. “It’s true! There’s so much feeling to be found in it. You should look on it with more charitable eyes, Yura; you might find more to recommend it.”

“I have my doubts,” Yuri huffed, sending a few strands of his hair flying. “It’s always in Sicilian, and I do not care for it. I asked Victor to translate an aria for me once and he refused, saying I should apply to my studies more.”

“And did you?” asked Yuuri, making an educated guess of his own as to what answer he was about to get.

Yuri looked away, mumbling something about not needing tutors anymore; with a barely contained laugh, Yuuri refrained from pursuing the subject. At 15 years old, Yuri still needed all the tutors he could get, but that was a lecture best reserved for the Grand Duchess and Victor.

Following that train of thought, Yuuri’s eyes fell once again on the invite Yuri had virtually thrusted into his hands; a beautiful handwritten invitation from Victor, where he entreated his guests to join him at the opera tonight. The style was handsome and appropriate, as it befitted his position, but it also managed to bury Victor under layers of etiquette once again.

An invitation that was all emperor and very little Victor — nothing at all like the memories that just might lay behind it.

_Yuuri gaped at the building. He'd heard about the Petrogrado Theater, famous throughout the entire continent. But hearing about it did not compare to seeing it with his own eyes._

_“Victor, it's marvelous,” he said reverently, in an almost whisper._

_Victor smiled, as proud as if the theater were his own house._

_“It is beautiful, isn't it? A shame we can't go inside now, but if you do get the chance of coming another day… Attending the ballet or the opera here is quite the experience.”_

_Yuuri shook his head sadly._

_“I don't think I'll be able to. The week is… rather occupied, I'm afraid. But I can only imagine what it must be like. The Imperial Ballet, specially,” he added, examining the handbill in his hands with longing eyes._

_“Do you have a personal preference for the ballet, then?” Victor inquired, cocking his head — not unlike Makkachin as she had thoroughly examined Yuuri’s shoes back at the lake: with endearing curiosity._

_“I… love it, really. I took ballet classes as a child, but as I grew up and had to see to other duties, I was forced to give it up.”_

_Yuuri took one last look at the handbill, and it occurred to him that he would probably be granted the opportunity to see the Imperial Ballet in the year he was to live here as Mari’s advisor. And… would it be too fantastic to imagine he might even have the same company he did at present?_

_Victor's voice rose him from his thoughts, surprising Yuuri once more that afternoon._

_“That's a shame. I would've loved to see you dance.”_

_Feeling the blush conquer him yet again, Yuuri stammered a dismissal and a hasty change of topic._

_But the thought of having Victor’s company for the theater in a near future seemed a bit more palpable now._

 

* * *

 

Yuuri could look but he could certainly not gape, as much as he wished to. Gaping was ungainly. And yet, it took all of his training not to do it: if the façade of the Imperial Theater was majestic, the interior was magnificent. A bit too much, perhaps, on the verge of opulent. But that was the reigning style in Rus, and there was no escaping it.

Chandeliers heavy with bronze and crystals hung from the ceilings, casting a softly iridescent glow on the the grand staircase and the red marble of the balustrade; on the ceilings, scenes of the ancient classics and myths stared them down, resting atop pillars bathed in gold leaf. Wherever they looked, they found red velvet, gold, crystals, rosy cherubs and distressed-looking nymphs. Beautifully oppressive, much like life in court, and the only respite from the overwhelming luxury and the stiff diplomacy was inside the royal boxes.

Their party separated in two groups, with the Grand Duchess and the duke leading Yuuri’s parents and Minako into one box, and leaving “the younger generation to themselves,” as Minako put it with a wink.

Yuri looked at Victor with a raised eyebrow. “If we’re separating based on age, shouldn’t you be going with them?”

Victor pretended not to hear, though Yuuri could swear he’d seen a pout form and then disperse as quickly as it had come. While Victor sat between Mila and Mari in the front row, Yuuri sat in the back with Yura. This gave him no option but to hear Victor and Mari in front of him — to constantly witness Victor’s effortless gallantry and the gracious, if slightly condescending, answers from Mari; to watch him looking like Yuuri’s wildest dreams wrapped in the pink and gold of the imperial garb, like a heartbreaking present not meant for Yuuri.

He distracted himself with the libretto; he knew precious little about the opera they were about to see, other than that it was a tragic love story (that is, nothing that did not apply to most operas). Next to him, Yuri frowned at the Sicilian words in the libretto, as if they had personally offended him. “How am I supposed to know what's happening on stage?”

They both pored over the booklet, looking for whatever words they knew and trying to construct meaning. Yuuri’s Sicilian had been critically neglected for the past few years, and with it being a language he’d never applied himself to with nearly as much fervor as to Rusian or Frankish, it now came back to collect no fruits whatsoever.

Their poor attempts eventually drew attention from their front row companions; Mila turned around and watched them with amused eyes.

“Care for some help, Yura?”

Yuuri returned her smile, but Yuri scowled at her. “Not from a hag, thank you.”

With a theatrical gasp, she brought her hand to her chest in a mockery of injured dignity, and Yuuri snorted louder than he intended to: the penchant for drama obviously ran in the family, as that was too uncanny an imitation of Victor.

Victor and Mari also turned around at the sound of Yuuri laughing — Mari with raised eyebrows and an expression that all but said “glad _someone_ is having fun”, while Victor stared at him with a smile and eyes that were too bright for Yuuri’s heartbeat.

“Vitya, you’re missing Yura trying to get help from Yuuri with Sicilian,” said Mila cheerfully (and maybe just a little on the side of impish. All part of her daily strategy to annoy Yuri, no doubt).

“So you’ve finally found someone to translate for you,” said Victor with an eyeroll.

“Quite the contrary, really!” Yuuri rushed to clarify. “Rather, it’s Yura who is being kind enough to try and help _me_ with my pitiful knowledge of Sicilian.”

Mila’s eyes widened. “You don’t speak it? Oh no, Vitya,” she turned to Victor, “surely one of us should help Yuuri!”

Yuuri saw in Mari’s eyes the exact moment her sanity clung at the opportunity; she gave Victor her most gracious smile. “Since both Mila and I understand Sicilian perfectly, would you be so kind as to help my brother with it?”

And before Yuuri could refuse or even have an opinion, Yura was sitting between Mari and Mila on the front row, and Victor was by his side again — much, much too close.

“Allow me,” he said, voice dropping low as he gently took the libretto from Yuuri and let his hands brush against his. Whether by accident or design, Yuuri could not tell, nor think about.

“I… wouldn’t wish to disturb your night at the opera, Victor. Do not mind me, I can—”

Victor stared at him, horrified. “I will most certainly mind you. What sort of host would I be if I brought you to my favorite opera but did not care whether you understood it or not?”

“This is your favorite, then?” asked Yuuri, interest now sparked. They had talked of ballet and opera for more than an hour during their ill-fated, unforgettable afternoon together, but it hit him now that the conversation had been composed more of Victor listening to Yuuri’s opinions and preferences than Victor revealing any of his own.

“Absolutely, I always come and see it when it is in town! Do you know the story?”

Yuuri shook his head, and Victor seemed to need no other encouragement. He gave Yuuri a summary of _Stammi Vicino_ , the story of a duke who fell in love with a courtesan, and how the duties of one and the reputation of the other soon became insurmountable obstacles to their love. Victor’s narration could hardly be called a summary, though, so rich in details that it was; he talked of each character as if they were dear friends of his, and of each scene as if he’d seen it happen just the day before. Yuuri found himself half immersed in the narrative and half in the excitement swimming in those eyes, right until the lights in the theater dimmed and the music started.

Thanks to Victor’s help, he could understand the lines being sung, even if fully enjoying them remained slightly out of his grasp: stories of star-crossed lovers were far from his first choice of entertainment at the moment.

When the first act came to a close, with the duke mourning the workings of fate,

_Even the smartest plan is of no use_

_And remains nothing but a theory_

_And you can only be sure of one thing:_

_It never turns out the way you planned it_

_Or how you thought it would_

 Yuuri could only sympathize with the words. What were the plans of men, if not playthings for the Fates?

As the entr’acte began, Victor turned to him with stars in his eyes: “Isn’t it absolutely delightful?!”

With Mari and Mila using the respite of the entr’acte to tease Yuri, Victor and Yuuri were forgotten in the back row to whisper their impressions and opinions on the music, costumes, singers and characters — and to argue about which of the characters was in a worse position, Yuuri now as invested in the story as Victor himself.

“The duke’s situation is much more dire,” he argued. “He’s bound by duty, a duty much bigger than his personal desires. He has an entire city to rule, people depend on him to do what’s right, and not… give in to his every single, selfish wish.”

Victor widened his eyes. “But surely he should be allowed to marry someone who makes him happy? And that is Camille. He could allow himself that one single wish.”

“Could he? What happens once a ruler gives in to their every wish?”

“I know what happens when they never do, and it… doesn’t make for a good picture,” said Victor, a weak smile coating his words that came like a splash of cold water and anchored both of them down in reality.

“Duty is certainly not always a pleasure,” Yuuri replied, keeping his voice low, hoping more than ever that their companions would not listen, “but one can always come to… live with it. Maybe even love everything that it brings.”

Victor’s smile remained in place, still a feeble imitation of the heart Yuuri longed for. “Your parents seem happy in what duty has brought them. Not everyone has such luck, let me assure you. My aunt is enough of an example.”

“The Grand Duchess?” asked Yuuri, though he was far from surprised. Grand Duchess Lilia was an impressive woman who seemed to be in control of herself like few people could claim to be — but even so, the mention of her late husband seemed to stir no emotions in her whatsoever.

“She was chosen for my uncle. Could he have chosen for himself, he would not have chosen her, or any other woman, for that matter. But Lilia brought lands with her that no one else did, and now the empire is a little bit bigger. The biggest empire of our age, as I’m sure you know,” he finished, the bitterness an obvious note in his voice.

_Lilia brought lands with her that no one else did_. Like Mari. While Yuuri had nothing but an empty title and a couple of châteaus to his name. Nothing that the biggest empire of their age didn’t already have in spades.

The second act brought them an excuse for the silence in which they had fallen; it passed by almost in a blur, brimming with scenes of love that Yuuri could currently do without — and that inevitably guided his thoughts down paths that were both painful and pleasant, all leading up to Victor.

And among a thousand little thoughts littering the way, there was one that insisted on drawing him in wherever he looked:

_“That was why he thought it was a good idea to snatch us away from the château, just to take us to some old opera he likes.”_

Had Victor changed half of this week’s plans to watch his favorite opera… or to take _Yuuri_ to his favorite opera?

At the end of the second act, while everyone else left their seats for intermission, Yuuri stayed, telling himself not to get carried away in flights of fancy, not to get his hopes up.

“Victor… is this why you brought us back from the château one day early? To…” he didn’t finish, watching as Mari and the others left the box. How else could he phrase _“to take me to the Imperial Theater, as you knew I wanted to?”_ in a way that didn’t sound presumptuous?

But he could always leave it to Victor to voice his deepest desires.

“To take you to the opera, yes,” he said, smile so warm Yuuri could have gotten lost in it, like one gets lost in their bed sheets in a cold morning. “You seemed unhappy at not being able to see it while in Petrogrado, so… I thought I could arrange that for you.”

“Victor, I… you didn't have to. The Grand Duchess’s plans—”

“Plans,” said Victor with a dismissive shrug. “What's the use of a plan that cannot be rearranged when priorities change?”

_Which of your priorities have changed since then?_ was the question Yuuri would never dare to ask — whether for fear that the answer wouldn't be the one he wanted, or that it would be exactly the one he wished for, he couldn't tell. He only knew there was only one thing he could say now to the pair of eyes that seemed to ask a question of their own.

“This is… wonderful. Thank you, Victor, I love it.”

Victor's eyes smiled as he turned them down to the libretto in his hands. “I'm glad, then. I only wish I could do more,” he said, this last addition coming almost in a whisper that was, nonetheless, too clear in the silence of their box.

Blushing, Yuuri reopened the libretto, trying to get ahead of the final act. Victor set out to help him, and between translations and speculations on what should or should not happen next in the story (“Yuuuuri, how could you _say_ that?!” “Well… isn’t that what happens with all courtesans in a romance?” “I know, but still...”), intermission flew by before either of them had even thought of standing up and going outside.

When the door opened again, breaking their peaceful interval alone, the world trickled back into their shared bubble as their companions returned.

“Did you two stay here the whole time?” asked Mila, throwing them a curious look as she resumed her seat. Mari mouthed a discreet “thank you” to Yuuri as she walked by.

_“I apologize, I was too enthralled in conversation with the man I’m completely enamored with, who just happens to be my sister’s fiancé, to even spare a thought to anything else.”_ Not the most appropriate answer, perhaps, so Yuuri remained quiet.

“Yuuri wanted more help with Sicilian, so we stayed,” said Victor, barely hesitating. What an enviable thing to have, that swiftness of thought and reaction; what would it be like to not feel paralyzed by every thought that crossed one’s mind?

The beginning of the third act killed whatever comments might have followed, and Yuuri breathed again. He and Victor had not gotten too far in their perusal of the third act, however, and he soon got left behind by the foreign language.

“Would you allow me?” Victor asked. When Yuuri nodded, somewhat confused by what, exactly, he was asking permission for, Victor came in a little closer and translated in a murmur:

_I rule and I guide_

_I overcome feelings_

_Feelings are forbidden to me_

_But when I think of you_

_Every calculation falls silent_

_I'm disloyal to myself for you_

Yuuri’s breath hitched; Victor was _too_ close. As if their closeness throughout the entire opera, and the past few days — the closeness shared by the lake one afternoon — weren’t enough to send all prudence and common sense out the window, he now leaned over the feeble boundaries Yuuri had (barely) attempted to build, with breath that tingled on his skin and words that went straight through his heart.

“You’re… a true proficient in the language,” he mumbled, eyes fleeting to the stage and coming back to Victor. He feared they always would.

Victor chuckled lightly and shook his head, still leaning on the arm of his chair, hand brushing against Yuuri’s arm and smile a beacon that lured Yuuri in despite his best endeavors. “Not as much as I would like, I’m afraid, but if it allows me to help you, that is enough for me.”

The duke’s aria echoed and filled the entire theater — except for the space created between the two of them, too small for anything else to come in between, too heavy to bear interruption.

“And what is he singing now?” breathed Yuuri.

Victor leaned in further; the tip of his nose brushed against Yuuri’s cheek, his mouth coming so close to his ear Yuuri could feel his face and neck burn violently. The box around them became suddenly and unbearably hot as Victor whispered to him, and only him,

_Stay close to me_

_Don’t go away_

_I’m afraid of losing you_

_Your hands, your legs_

_My hands, my legs_

_And our heartbeats_

_Are blending together_

Yuuri shifted on his seat, pressing the arms of his chair and barely breathing as Victor’s hand landed on top of his, his thumb running along the inside of his wrist, leaving a trail of fire that Yuuri would’ve been glad to be consumed by.

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ , and this was too much — all, all of it, too much for him to sit there and pretend, blinking away tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried.

“Yuuri—”

“Excuse me,” he said, hastily standing up and breaking all points of contact between them. He left the box without a single thought as to whether his abrupt exit had caught anyone else’s attention, closing the door behind him as silently as possible.

Outside, he went down the staircase and back into the Grand Foyer, empty now except for those who worked at the theater, and populated with nothing but silence. Just what he wanted. Yuuri walked over to the nearest ridiculously golden pillar and hid behind it, pressing his forehead against the cool of the marble.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Only two more days.

 

* * *

 

“I would love to!”

Victor blinked. Such unrestrained enthusiasm from Princess Mari was unexpected, and he did not have an immediate strategy on how to respond to it; in fact, he hadn’t known her capable of it. But life was full of surprises, or so he’d been told. It did give him pause, however, that the only surprises he’d ever known had walked into his life with the Katsukis.

Or Yuuri, more specifically, though this one now was quite extraordinary as well.

“You like riding, then?” he asked her, putting on his best official smile. Not because it worked on her — it seemed to do the very opposite, if the past five days were anything to go by — but because he was at a loss as to what to do around her.

“There’s nothing I like more, Your Majesty,” she said, with a smile that just might be the first real one he’d ever gotten from her, even if she still insisted in calling him _Your Majesty_. All his _please, call me Victor_ had gone either ignored or unheeded, and he’d given up on the third day. But still, a smile signified an opening, and an admittance of loving something, _anything_ , even more so.

“My brother and I go riding as often as we can,” she continued, nodding towards Yuuri at the other corner of the room, who currently sat with a book and had very pointedly not looked at Victor the whole morning. “And not nearly as often as either of us would like.”

Anything that might help Victor build a friendlier relationship with the princess was more than welcome. They were to be married after all, as much as he wished they weren’t (as much as he daydreamed about a different denouement). _We should all go riding this afternoon, then,_ was at the tip of his tongue, when Lilia intervened:

“Victor, take the princess to go riding in the western fields. I’m sure she would love nothing more than to ride with you.”

_I’m sure there are many other things she would love more than riding alone with me_ , was the comment he swallowed. But Mari saved herself, and him, in the process:

“What do you think, Yuuri? We should go, shouldn’t we?” she asked, turning to her brother once again before Lilia could say anything else.

Yuuri raised his head from his book, eyes wide: “Oh, um. Yes, a ride would be most welcome, as a matter of fact.”

“Excellent!” said Victor, and he hoped he wasn’t too obviously pleased about this new development. “Allow me to make the arrangements!”

Yuri, however, looked out the window, mumbling: “It’s going to rain,” but Victor ignored him. If he paid attention to all the objections Yuri raised to plans, he would die an old man prisoner of his own bedroom.

 

* * *

 

As they rode through the western fields, Yuuri had to concede that staying in would indeed have been a waste: it was true there were clouds piling up in the horizon, but with the light breeze going through the trees and the warm weather, the promise of rain was nothing more than a small speck lost in the distance.

Mari and Mila had taken the lead in their outing, riding wherever their fancy took them and leaving it to Yuuri and the others to follow them if they wished to. Almost as relentless as they were, though perhaps not as skilled, Yura followed on their heels, with no intentions on being left behind. But where Mari and Mila seemed to be one with their horses, like the amazons from the legends, Yuri sometimes appeared to not have fully earned the trust of his own horse yet.

“Don’t be forceful, Yura,” said Victor, his own horse trotting by, looking as comfortable in the saddle as he’d been on the dance floor the other night. “If you push him every time he balks, he’s—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he snapped. Yuuri hadn’t known him for too long, but long enough to know the young prince was bound to do the exact opposite of what Victor told him. And sure enough, he soon dashed in front of them again, Yuuri and Victor the only ones in the party allowing their horses to settle into a calm trot. Between Yuuri and his sister, Mari had always been the one to favor great speeds and sprints, while he much preferred the tranquility of a trot that would let him enjoy both the day and whatever company he kept at the moment.

With his present company, Yuuri found himself torn between enjoying Victor’s conversation to the fullest while he still could, and bolting ahead so as to avoid it entirely.

The indecision was short-lived, though, as Yuuri had never had much skill when it came to avoiding temptation — or at least, not when that temptation was a certain someone:

“Aren’t you going after Yura?” he asked, squinting into the distance and trying to see Mari and the others, but it was no use: from here they were nothing but a blur, disappearing from view as they went around the woods.

Victor shrugged. “He won’t listen; it’s a hopeless cause, really. You and Mari, though, you are naturals,” he added, admiration clear in his voice.

Yuuri laughed. “There’s no need for such flattery! Anyone else could achieve the same level of competence, provided they put in the same amount of work in their daily practice.”

“You don’t attribute any of your success to your own personal abilities, then?”

“I…don't see myself as being in possession of any abilities, really,” said Yuuri, shaking his head.. “I've merely been blessed with more free time than most in my youth, which allowed me to dedicate myself to my pastimes. That is all.”

Even without his glasses, Yuuri could still discern Victor throwing an unbelieving stare in his direction, and forced himself not to protest. The point in question was not debatable, and there was nothing to be gained by indulging in it; there would only be some predictable back and forth, a stale kind of dance where Victor would press in and Yuuri would step incessantly back. He knew himself and Victor that much, at least.

As if in possession of mind reading powers, Victor let out a laugh that did not lack the suggestion of bitterness.

“As usual, you do your own talents very poor justice, Yuuri, and I can only hope you will someday allow others to pay it the fair tribute it deserves. But I see you’re not nearly as inclined to talk of it as I am,” he added, with a smile and a wink so charming Yuuri would have been glad to fall off his horse and at Victor’s feet. “So let us put your talents to the test rather than talk about them. I’ll race you to the lake, what do you say?”

Yuuri fought a smile in vain. “I say you do not stand a chance.”

The answer was exactly what he imagined it would be: Victor’s good old offended gasp and a hand clutching imaginary pearls. And before he could utter another word, Yuuri darted down the hill, only distantly registering the drops of rain that had at last decided to fall, occasionally tapping a beat on his skin.

But for all his commentary on Yuuri’s skills, Victor was suspiciously silent about his own: he was by Yuuri’s side in a few seconds, his horse acting as fast as a thought with the smallest commands from his rider.

At the bottom of the hill, it was a straight line to the closest shore, then around the lake, and the first one on the northern shore would claim victory. A fairly easy course — except that the stubborn, weak drops of rain were now becoming stronger, abundant, and impossible to ignore any longer. In a matter of seconds, Yuuri’s riding clothes clung wetly to his skin, his hair plastered to his forehead, and a thunder roared loudly enough to make his horse’s ears prick forward. The last thing he wanted or needed was his horse getting spooked and throwing him off the saddle, so he slowed down.

Victor must have thought the exact same thing, as he trotted to his side and yelled over the rumble of another thunder:

“Let’s wait it out in the gazebo!”

Yuuri followed obediently, and they headed to what was to Yuuri a huge, vague white shape sitting on the shore closest to them.

Once both of them and their horses were safely under the shelter of the gazebo, Yuuri leaned against one of the massive pillars, watching the rain fall ceaseless and fierce, engulfing everything outside in a light, thin mist. The rest of their party had long disappeared in the opposite direction, and there was not another single soul to be met on this side of the fields.

Victor came to lean next to him on the same pillar.

“It looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while, doesn’t it?”

Yuuri watched enraptured as Victor ran a hand through his bangs, rumpled from the race and damp with the rain; the occasional droplet of water trickled down his hair, neck and into his shirt, and Yuuri’s eyes were instinctively drawn to it. The things he wouldn’t give to be able to follow the same tantalizing path.

_Stop staring._

“Uh… Yes, I do believe so. And,” he raised a brow, “whose fault might that be?”

“ _Yuuuuuri!_ You don’t mean to say this is _my_ fault? I know I have power as the emperor but,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes betraying whatever serious façade he tried to put on, “implying my powers extend to the Heavens is a little too much. There's no need for such flattery, you know,” he added, echoing Yuuri’s own words back at him.

With a snort, Yuuri gave him a half-hearted kick to his left foot.

“I meant it’s _your_ fault we’re stuck here in the gazebo. If you hadn’t lured me into racing…,” he trailed off, letting the rest of his mild scolding be assumed. Really scolding Victor was hardly within the realm of possibility; a decision to reprimand Victor for any of his faults — real or imaginary — soon withered and died like leaves in the fall. Yuuri had felt the impulse more than once during the past few days, and had watched it die over and over again at the perfect lines of Victor’s smiles.

“And we shall not be able to settle this today, I’m afraid,” Victor replied. “Will you grant me another race in a near future?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know when that ‘near future’ will be.”

The rain of today put an end to any other outdoor plans they might have, and tomorrow… tomorrow was the day of the ball, and the engagement announcement. After that, he and his family would go back to Nihon and start preparations for Mari’s wedding. For how long they intended to prolong the engagement was not information Yuuri was currently privy to. He’d purposefully stayed away from all wedding discussions.

“So you don’t know when I’ll see you again?” asked Victor, his voice dropping to a low note.

“I— that is…” _constantly on my mind_ was what he was tempted to say. _A relief I can’t put into words_ was another. “...inconsequential,” was what he chose in the end.

Victor looked at him in silence for a moment, before turning his gaze back to the fields.

“There’s nothing inconsequential about anything that involves you, Yuuri,” he said, still so quietly it could be lost in the storm like all the rest. “Certainly you realize that by now.”

There was no reply possible that could both answer Victor and hold the threads of Yuuri’s sanity together, so he gave him none. Instead, he let his eyes take in their surroundings, watching as the world poured around them, dripped from the sharp edges of the gazebo and pooled in the grass, as inconsequential as Yuuri’s feelings and desires.

_Certainly you realize that by now._ He did; how could he not? He had long days full of small moments worth of evidence, and after last night at the opera, there could be no further denial: Victor was as prey to desperation as Yuuri, both of them equally lost in the maze of duty and politics.

Victor gave a short, rueful laugh. “You give me no answer; I don’t wonder. But I… do wonder whether you feel the consequences of this match as heavily as I do. Perhaps not. Perhaps it is inconsequential to you, after all.”

Yuuri stared, words failing him. The sheer _unfairness_ of that statement coming from Victor, of all people — the one person to whom his feelings should be all the more obvious… his answer came in what was half a mumble, half a growl:

“How dare you…”

“I'm sorry?” said Victor, and Yuuri had a dash of angry satisfaction to see Victor’s eyes flying wide. He turned around to face him.

“How dare you say I ‘don't feel the consequences’ as keenly as you, when it's all I can think about?”, Yuuri said, giving all the free rein to his anger he'd never allowed himself before — the anger he’d refused to acknowledge so far, buried deep under a thousand layers of familial and political duty, grief, and self-denial, festering under the surface of his regrets. But he would be _damned_ before he let Victor imply otherwise.

“What answer do you expect me to give you? She’s my sister, Victor, my sister! There can be _no_ answer! There shouldn't even be a question to begin wi— no, in fact, there is no question.” He turned his head and looked ahead once again, avoiding the sight of Victor’s enormous, sorrowful eyes. “You and I are to be brothers by marriage, and that is all.”

In the silence that followed there was only the rain pummeling against the marbled roof, like a march of inevitability; even then, Yuuri barely heard it, his own anger still ringing in his ears.

An anger that quickly dispersed when Victor's hand searched for his, sliding against the cold stone of their shared pillar and timidly lacing their fingers together.

“I know,” said Victor, his voice barely audible under the patter of the rain. “I know, and I apologize. I never meant to insinuate you owe me an answer, or… anything else. And you are, of course, absolutely right: there shouldn’t be a question at all. But I wanted to… acknowledge it. I have never felt this way about anyone, and… am not likely to feel it ever again,” he confessed softly, while one of his fingers played with Yuuri’s ring finger, “so I wanted to say it. To be free, just this once; just in this one matter. But it was selfish of me not to consult your feelings. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

A lightning flashed in the horizon, brightening the view for a belated second, and highlighting the emptiness around them once again. _We could do anything, say anything, and no one would ever know._

“I’m sorry too,” he said after a few seconds. “I wish…” he trailed off, unwilling to finish his sentence. _I wish we weren’t who we are._

Victor brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kissed it — a kiss that lingered and whispered promises on his skin. He kissed his fingers one by one, lightly, unhurriedly, worshipping at an altar both should have renounced long ago.

“Tell me,” Victor whispered, and Yuuri closed his eyes. He could spend hours listing all of his wishes, but what voice, or presence of mind, was there to be found with Victor placing a reverent kiss onto his palm?

“I wish—” Yuuri drew in a sharp breath: Victor kissed his wrist, and the body shiver that came with it left all other words behind. He opened his eyes, only to be entranced by the sight of Victor’s lips on his skin. The places he wouldn’t have those lips wander on, if given the chance.

Victor’s hands found his waist at the same time Yuuri got hold of his lapel and pulled him down. Victor murmured something — maybe _are you sure_ , perhaps _please_ — but Yuuri and reason had long parted ways for him to answer with anything more than a nod. He pulled Victor closer, far past the point where they could still save themselves, and let himself drown.

And if Yuuri had dreamed of it more than once in the dark of night, dreams couldn’t possibly compare to the reality of Victor. Not to how his mouth tasted — heady, warm, inescapable like the tides, with the faintest hint of the champagne they’d had today — and not to how he held on to Yuuri with bruising despair, hands roaming around his back, waist, hips, shoulders, as if trying to map every single curve of Yuuri; Yuuri threaded his fingers into his hair and tugged on it, just a little, just the way he’d fantasized so many times. He was rewarded with a low moan, and Yuuri could get drunk on that one sound alone.

Victor kissed with a hunger that screamed a myriad of answers to all the questions Yuuri had never dared ask; he kissed like he danced: expertly, with an instinctive knowledge of Yuuri, leading him wherever he saw fit, and allowing himself to be led when Yuuri demanded it.

When Victor nipped at his bottom lip, Yuuri took the dance into his hands and brought Victor with him by his lapel again, trapping himself between pillar and Victor. He ignored the slight thud as his head hit the stone behind him; the only thing that mattered was the pressure of Victor’s body against his, doing away with any negative space between them until they were indistinguishable from each other — until he could feel Victor’s want against his own, and they were both gasping into their kiss. Until he could share Victor’s life and Victor’s bed, and die on Victor’s lips.

“Stay,” Victor whispered, without breaking away from the kiss. “Don’t go… stay with me.”

But it was exactly that — the sound of Victor’s voice, putting into words Yuuri’s wildest fantasies — that shattered the illusion and brought sudden clarity again; before he could check himself, he pushed Victor away. Victor offered no resistance, going meekly even as his hands still searched for Yuuri in the gap between them.

He kept him at arm’s length as they stared at each other in astonished silence — he looked at the silver hair, now tousled for completely different reasons, the lips bruised from kissing and the disheveled coat and shirt. All Yuuri’s work.

Victor licked his lips. “Yuuri, I— I’m sorry, Yuuri, I didn’t—” he stopped as Yuuri shook his head. But still Yuuri said nothing, his mind stunned into a blank. Victor was clearly waiting for a storm to be unleashed on him, but what blame could he lay on anyone, when he was just as guilty?

Wordlessly, he let go of Victor and hurried towards his own horse.

“Yuuri...”

The familiar, ever unwelcome sting of tears paid him another instant visit, but he had no attention to give it. He shook his head again without turning around; when he finally answered, his voice came out wobbly and unstable, regardless of how much he meant (or desperately wanted to mean) his next words:

“We cannot. We shouldn’t have— we must end this.”

A sigh. “I know.”

_Don’t look._

If he looked back — if he turned around — he would spend the rest of his life collecting the shards of his heart. With a nod to absolutely no one, Yuuri got up on his horse and rode out, unable and uncaring to tell his own tears apart from the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not: chapter 4 is already written! It was supposed to be only one chapter, but when it was over, I realized it was way too long - I don't like to have chapters longer than 10k, if I can avoid it. So I divided the final chapter in 2 (if Hollywood taught me anything...). You'll get it in a week! ^^
> 
> The songs referenced in the opera scene (well. other than Stammi Vicino, ofc) are respectively from "So wie man plant und denkt" and "Ich will dir nur sagen", from the musical _Elisabeth_.
> 
> Thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/) and [Dommi](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) for their beta work and encouragement!!
> 
> Extra thanks to iruutciv for the further heartbreak with her stunning art!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/thehobbem)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please join me in screaming about this breathtaking art of The Gazebo Kiss™ in chapter 3 by the incredible iruutciv.](http://iruutciv.tumblr.com/post/181332106807/victor-kissed-with-a-hunger-that-screamed-a-myriad)

Dinner that evening was by far the most somber affair Victor had ever hosted. He could feel his own dull, gloomy silence falling like a shroud over the entire room, and encouraging everyone, even Yuri, into a similar restrain.

And he could honestly not be bothered to care.

He had spent a life being groomed for the throne — never allowed to go anywhere without a chaperone, or to have any friend that wasn’t Makkachin, never even allowed to go downstairs without someone holding his hand. He’d bowed down and accepted it all without a word of protest.

Five years spent sitting on a throne he’d never asked for, one he’d seen slowly kill his uncle; five years spent in a fine act of juggling his advisors’ attempts at coaxing him into this or that course of action, along with all of Yakov and Lilia’s expectations. But it was in the service of his people, so he gave and he gave. He dedicated himself to everyone, and always did what he should instead of what he wished — until he’d stopped wishing altogether. He’d bowed down and accepted it all without a word of protest.

So now, surely he could stay goddamn quiet at dinner if he wanted it? Certainly no one would deny him _that_ , at least!

After the first course went by in sullen silence, Lilia and Yakov took the hosting obligations into their own hands, and soon low, diffident hushes of conversation were back in the room. Thanks to those efforts, Victor’s sour mood lay forgotten by everyone else by the end of the second course, and he was at liberty to focus on the only empty chair at the table, between lady Minako and Lilia.

 _He’s not feeling well_ , Mari had said. Victor didn’t doubt, just as he didn’t doubt that it was entirely his fault.

The rest of the evening was spent in much the same manner, with the party engrossed in trivial chatter, and Victor holed up in his own head. After dinner, they all moved to the Sapphire Room, with Victor mindlessly leading the way and somehow ending in his armchair by the window, while the others entertained themselves with a game of cards. He didn’t even know whether he’d been invited to play.

There was room for only one thing in his mind, and that was a not small list of political pitfalls and delicate foreign alliances — all inevitably dwarfed by a pair of eyes the color of early dawn, and a name.

“...Yuuri?”

Victor raised his head at that, and found Mari’s judgemental face as she examined her own hand of cards.

“He got caught in the storm while riding, and was too stubborn to wait it out,” she said, the downturn of her mouth speaking volumes more than her own words. “He wouldn’t even get out of his wet clothes, his valet had to beg him to do it.”

“Idiot,” Yuri muttered. “Even Victor had the sense to look for shelter. Has he eaten? Does he have a fever?”

“I think I will go check on him,” said lady Minako, getting up from her chair. “If he’s—”

“The doctor has been sent for already,” said Victor.

The whole room stopped, staring at him, and it was the surprise on Mari’s face that made him realize he’d said it much louder and brusquely than necessary.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I, uh… when I was told Yuuri was not feeling well, I sent the doctor to his chambers, and some dinner as well. He should be resting by now.”

Yuuri might well have gotten sick in the rain, that was likely enough. But he could guess at how much of it was a cold or a fever, and how much of it was merely an excuse to not come down for dinner and see Victor again. He could, at the very least, provide Yuuri with some peace and quiet for now, away from people fussing about him — away from Victor himself.

Queen Hiroko looked at him with so much kindness it almost hurt. “Thank you, dear Victor, that’s really very thoughtful of you.”

He nodded, not knowing how else to respond. What would she say if she knew the truth? She and her husband deserved better than that. Mari deserved better than that as well, and Yuuri… deserved better than Victor.

...did _he_ deserve better than himself?

* * *

“Your Highness?”

Yuuri opened his eyes: Minami stood by his bed with a towel in his hands.

“Yes, Minami.”

The boy shifted on his feet. “I, um. I brought you a towel, sir.”

“So I can see.”

“A wet towel, sir. For— for your eyes, sir.”

Initially caught between laughing and being puzzled, Yuuri’s dilemma instantly melted away. Minami looked after him even when he himself didn’t bother.

“Thank you, Minami,” he said, sitting up and taking the towel. “Well thought. What would I do without you?”

That had the predicted effect: Minami’s chest puffed up with pride, and he stood up impossibly straighter, the violent blush on his cheeks the same color of that one red streak in his hair. “Thank you, Your Highness! I, you— I mean… always at your service! Your Highness!” he finished, doing his best to bow while dancing on his feet.

Biting back a laugh, Yuuri sent him down with a message to his parents that he’d be downstairs soon. He’d already used being sick as an excuse last night and this morning; should he use it again, after the court doctor saying it was nothing serious, his family would start suspecting something.

And if there was no escaping it, he might as well do something about those puffy eyes of his, lest the Grand Duchess opened a new Inquisition on why, exactly, his eyes were swollen.

 _"I spent all night crying over your nephew, if you must know"_ was likely too scandalous an answer. Tempting of course, but…

He lay back in bed, applying the wet towel under his eyes, a thousand thoughts running through his head. When Minami came back, Yuuri had made a decision.

“Minami, would you be so kind as to bring me my sister?”

* * *

Victor closed all the books open in front of him and got up to stand by the window. Makkachin followed, leaving her cushions to get the attention she obviously deserved and was severely missing. With the habit formed over a lifetime, Victor patted her head and scratched behind her ears as he gazed out the window and over his gardens.

He looked, and yet saw none of the magnificent trees, carefully tended for by his army of gardeners, nor the way the sun shone bright and clear, almost in defiance of yesterday’s rain and everything that had come with it. He could only see one thing in front of him.

_“We must end this.”_

The major domo walked in, announcing the name Victor had been waiting for. With a nod, he readied himself, calling to him not his easy smile and unequivocal charm, but absolute earnestness — something he rarely had a use for, but that was to be now his ultimate (and only) weapon.

* * *

Minami fussed about him for what felt like hours, trying to make every little detail about Yuuri “as perfect as Your Highness”, as he confusedly explained. But all agitation aside, he made sure that when Yuuri went down the stairs and into the Victoria Hall, he was impeccably dressed — and even Yuuri had to concede that, between the silver and blue garments of the House of Katsuki, and his hair carefully combed back, he looked better than usual. But he also could barely see the way ahead (“Your Highness,” Minami had gasped, “ _no glasses_ ”). How he was expected to enjoy the little sight he had was the mystery of mysteries.

He found his family and Minako already waiting for him downstairs, and he answered his mother’s remarks absent-mindedly with neutral half-words and hums. His entire focus was on Mari — or rather, on the intricate, lacey hem of her dress, as he did not yet have the courage to fully face her.

Their conversation that afternoon had been… far, far better than what he’d expected. Too good, in fact, and far from anything Yuuri deserved.

 

_“Oh no. You mean to tell me you have stolen my dear love from me? Yuuri, I am beyond appalled,” she said, monotone._

_He shifted on the bed, his eyes suddenly interested in the patterns on the carpet. “I know you don’t love him, but—”_

_“I barely like him, sometimes,” she interrupted him. “He’s so… he’s_ too much. _”_

_“...but he is to be your husband,” he insisted, raising his eyes. “Doesn’t that… doesn’t what I told you… bother you?”_

_She crossed her arms. “I am shocked to see you think I care about this. Besides, how can you honestly believe I haven’t seen the way you two look at each other?”_

_He had no answer for that — he’d run out of answers from the moment he’d seen Victor’s imperial portrait looming over them on the hallway — but none was expected from him, apparently, as Mari laid her hand on his hair and ruffled it the way she knew annoyed him._

_“Don’t worry, little brother, everything’s going to be fine.”_

_She didn’t know that. No one could know that. The only ‘fine’ ending to all of this was out of anyone’s reach, Mari’s included. But even if it were tangible, Yuuri was sure he wouldn’t deserve it. He already didn’t deserve Mari’s forgiveness._

_And yet, she gave it to him nonetheless._

_“Mari, I… I’m sorry for this.” He’d lost count of how many times he’d said it in the past ten minutes, but however many, it would never be enough. He turned his eyes back to his own feet, the sight of Mari’s slightly annoyed benevolence too much to bear. “I’m sorry for this mess, I… I think it will be better for you if I do not move to Petrogrado with you.”_

_Of course, it would also be better for himself if he didn’t. The farther away from Victor the better. But his priority had to be Mari — what_ she _thought and wanted from Yuuri. He would walk back to Nihon if she so desired, would watch her wedding night in their private chambers if she ordered him to. It would be the least he could do._

_But as usual, his own regrets failed to do her justice._

_“That would be the opposite of better,” said Mari sternly, sitting next to him on the bed. “We had a… meeting this morning, about our new alliance. And you’re going to be essential to it, Yuuri. I’m sorry, but it seems you’re going to be here for a while after the wedding,” she said, giving him a hug. “For better or worse.”_

 

He still couldn’t face her properly, even as she looped her arm around his and walked with him behind their parents. But the confession had at least rid him of some of the weight on his chest, and the light squeeze Mari gave his arm brought a little warmth to the long, cold hallway made of exuberance and silence.

As the herald announced them, unfurling their titles as they stepped through the doors, Yuuri found himself engulfed in a babel of music and chatter, in the overabundance of marble and gold, the myriad of mirrors lining the walls and the unnecessary profusion of people moving about — every one of whom had now stopped dead in their tracks to openly stare at the newcomers. Only the imperial court knew how to be that uncomfortable.

It was under those heavy stares that supper slogged by, and only Mila’s spirited conversation managed to help Yuuri maintain any semblance of normalcy; he even went so far as to secure her as his partner for most dances, including the cotillion. Between his dances with Mila and Minako, and the one dance he’d granted Count Nekola out of sheer politeness, he should be safe from having to interact with Victor tonight. He would have more than his fair share of strained interactions with him once he and Mari moved to Petrogrado and into the Autumn Palace.

When the party moved into the Victoria Hall for the quadrille, Yuuri quickly got hold of Mila — but not before he overheard the Grand Duchess and the duke talking in hushes.

“...and he is going to propose after the cotillion.”

“But have they fallen in love yet?” asked the duke.

She dismissed that detail with a wave of her hand, like one would an inconvenient fly. “No, not yet. That can come later, and if it doesn’t, it is immaterial.”

Yuuri didn’t stay around long enough to try and make out what the answering grumble meant.

If only he’d never left Hasetsu.

* * *

The only thing stopping Yuuri from grabbing every single flute of champagne that passed by on a silver tray was the ever-present, always vigilant eyes of Minako; had it not been for her tireless supervision, he would’ve been drowning in alcohol right now.

As it was, the only thing he’d been allowed to get lost in was dance. With the continuous back and forth between Mila and Minako (and the brief interlude with Count Nekola), he’d managed to almost forget his woes. Almost. Now, however, there was only one more dance before the ball came to an end: the dreaded cotillion. As soon as Victor singled out Mari with a corsage, everyone’s suspicion would be confirmed: that the princess chosen by the emperor to close the ball with him was to be his wife, and their future empress.

Accordingly, a servant came into the hall with a basket of corsages, and every noble in the room promptly swarmed him with requests of this or that flower. Yuuri slowly approached, and with no idea of which one to get for Mila, he ended up asking for his own favorite:

“A blue rose, please.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. His Majesty reserved them all for himself.”

Of course. Of course that among all darned possibilities, Victor intended to use Yuuri’s favorite flowers to propose to his sister. Because the night — this entire week — hadn’t been torturous enough.

He picked a flower at random and walked away from the throng surrounding the servant, just in time to see another one handing Victor two enormous bouquets.

“Your Majesty, here are your roses.”

Yuuri didn’t need this. He had no need for any of this and frankly, the court was welcome to think what they wished, but he was not about to stand a minute of it any longer. He turned on his heels and made for the door, practically bolting past Mari.

“Yuuri? Yuuri!” She grabbed his wrist right when he thought he’d fooled her into thinking he hadn’t heard her. “Yuuri, where are you going?”

 _Home_ , was what he wanted to say.

“I… I really don’t feel well, I’m going to my room.” Soon the entire court would think him overly frail, with the frequency Yuuri had claimed to not be well over the past week.

“Now, right before the cotillion? Surely not, you have to stay for it!”

He almost laughed in her face, but refrained from it; it would’ve come out firmly on the sound of hysterical.

“Mari, please, I can’t—”

“I insist,” she said, and Yuuri stared, partly in amazement at how much she’d sounded like the grand Duchess, was she learning from her? But also, he could hardly believe his sister to be so _unfeeling_. He would’ve thought she’d be the first one to cover for his absence.

From the other side of the room, Victor made his way to Mari, his pace brisk and the blue roses in his hands reflected into infinity in every single mirror. And yet, there was nothing in the entire hall that could rival Victor himself — his hair of silver outshining the excess of crystals hanging from the ceiling, his eyes far surpassing the beauty of the roses. And Yuuri knew, with a certainty that exceeded even his knowledge of his own self, that he’d be able to smell the lavender and honey as soon as Victor came closer, the scents having long been associated with him in Yuuri’s heart.

The crowd parted for the emperor, and the music gave way to echoing silence as Victor finally stood before the two of them; Yuuri wondered if everyone in the hall could hear his heartbeat, or if it was just in his own ears that it pounded mercilessly.

This close, Victor’s face was so clear to him. The crinkles around his eyes as he smiled — a _real_ smile, not the one freely given to the world, carrying only empty meaning behind it. No, this was the one that had so far been only Yuuri’s. The one that made his heart hurt and soar all at once. And once Mari took a step forward, that smile would never again be his to keep.

Mari took two steps back, blending in with the rest of the court as they surrounded Victor and Yuuri.

Because somehow, it was _Yuuri_ Victor looked at.

“My dear Yuuri,” he said, extending the roses to him, “allow me to present you with your favorite flowers.”

Amidst the sudden hush in the room, Yuuri mechanically accepted the bouquets, not taking his eyes off Victor. He could feel himself gaping, as not all the training in the world could prevent it now; why was he— what was the _meaning_ of this?

“I know you’ve asked Mila for the cotillion,” Victor continued, smile still so bright it dimmed the rest of the room and whatever was left of Yuuri’s reason, “but it would be my honor if you would grant me this dance as my future husband.”

Distantly, Yuuri heard _ohs_ and gasps fill the room, and he vaguely discerned every eye in the hall trained on him — all of it muted, distorted, coming from too far away, almost as if he were underwater. He faintly wondered how pronounced the frown and the pursed lips on the Grand Duchess’ face were right now, but that was no concern of his. He looked back at Mari, his only real concern, but all he got from her was an encouraging nod.

From somewhere in the crowd a booming voice hailed “Long live the future prince consort!”, and the shout was immediately echoed by everyone else in unison. An old man whose clothes bore the insignia of some old, noble house Yuuri couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of, came to congratulate Victor.

“Your Majesty, allow me to wish you and His Highness the very best, in the name of all distinguished guests here tonight.”

Whatever Victor was about to say — something equally appropriate and formal, no doubt — was cut short when Yuuri grabbed him by the wrist and unceremoniously dragged him to another room, slamming the door shut behind them.

* * *

“ _Have you lost your mind?!_ ”

Victor tried to stand up with as much dignity as he had left — a bit difficult, perhaps, seeing as he’d just been shoved into a room by someone who really had no idea how strong he actually was. But there was nothing stopping him from trying, so he stood up a little straighter and ran a hand through his bangs: it wouldn’t do to look disheveled on the day of his engagement, before he’d even shared a bed with Yuuri. Afterwards, yes, but now was just poor timing.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, but I don’t—”

“ _Why are you proposing to me instead of Mari??_ ” Yuuri hissed.

Against his better judgement, which constantly reminded him not to frown so as not to get wrinkles on a forehead that was already… not the ideal, Victor frowned. What was _Yuuri_ talking about?

Unless…

“Yuuri,” he said carefully, “were you not informed of this?”

“I was most certainly not! You mean to tell me this was _planned?!_ ”

Well, that explained the utterly bewildered look on Yuuri’s face when Victor proposed, as well as the distance he’d kept between them all night. Not the reaction he’d been anticipating, for sure.

Slowy, he approached Yuuri again, delicately taking the bouquets out of his hands and placing them on the couch as he spoke. “Well, you see, I… asked for an audience with your parents this morning, and told them the extension of my feelings for you.”

“Victor!”

“And how I was sure we could come to a different, but still mutually beneficial agreement regarding our kingdoms. I proposed an alliance treaty, along with the extinction of certain trade tariffs, a great number of concessions here and there…” he said vaguely. It had taken him a sleepless night and an entire morning of extensive reading, and long, tedious talks with his advisors, to come to a precise offer to the king and queen of Nihon that would benefit them without damaging his own empire (even if some of the concessions had, admittedly, been a bit too much).

“I won’t bother you with the details now, but they did seem quite happy with the proposal. And when they summoned your sister to take part in the meeting, she was also favorable to the idea. Eager, really, to the point where it was quite hard not to take it personally. I’m afraid, my dear Yuuri,” Victor added, taking Yuuri’s hand in his, “that your sister does not care for me at all.”

To his relief, Yuuri made no attempt to free his hands — he did try to keep a smile at bay, but in that he was betrayed by the quiver of his lips. “You might have something there, though I’m sure I don’t know what gave it away. But Victor,” he said with a frown, “what would you have done if they’d refused?”

“Probably begged,” Victor admitted. “Yuuri, I meant what I said that day,” he continued, his thumb coming up to trace Yuuri’s bottom lip, like it had done once, long ago — too long ago. “If I am to marry, they should have eyes like these. Lips like these. Be as beautiful as you.”

It was to Yuuri’s credit that, even as he held his breath, he still had it in him to mutter, “Technically, my sister does have eyes and lips like these. They run in the family.”

Victor let out a huffed laugh. “As similar as you may be, you’ll find you occupy very different places in my heart.”

Yuuri ducked his head, his face turning into what had quickly become Victor’s favorite hue of pink. He could spend entire lives in its rise and fall, and it would still not be enough.

But if he was going to ask Yuuri to share his life, it was only fair that he be honest about what such a life entailed. He took hold of both of Yuuri’s hands again, and brought them to his heart.

“I should warn you, though: I don’t know if being my husband would bring you happiness. The life of an emperor… I have little time for myself, and I shall not have a lot of it for you. Nevertheless, it would… it would make me the luckiest of men to have you by my side, Yuuri.”

He gazed up at Victor from beneath dark eyelashes, his eyes two pools of honey and quiet fire that never quite allowed Victor to forget why he’d become completely enthralled with him in the first place. A siren song, if he’d ever seen one — except that they lured Victor into completion instead of destruction.

“The life of an emperor sounds lonely. It seems to me you need someone to take care of you until you step down,” said Yuuri with a small smile that brought Victor’s heart to its knees. _God_ , Yuuri was so bad for a man’s peace of mind.

He kissed Yuuri’s hand — it was finally, _finally_ his to kiss as many times as he wanted, and he intended to take full advantage of that. “That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

It wouldn’t have been surprising for Yuuri to avoid his gaze again, with another of his lovely, neverending blushes; but it wouldn’t have been _Yuuri_ if he didn’t surprise Victor: eyes still trained on him, Yuuri kissed his hand back.

“That’s because it is.”

* * *

“ _Have you lost your mind?_ ”

Victor sighed. It sounded much more charming coming from Yuuri than from Lilia.

“Not at all,” he said, a smile automatically freezing on his lips like a shield. "In fact, I don’t think I've ever been saner."

Lilia gave him The Look — the one that for decades had frozen diplomats in place and intimidated her husband into following her command. Victor had many memories of being on the receiving end of The Look as a child, but it had admittedly been a long time. Behind her, Yakov bore a matching frown, but Victor dismissed it without a second thought; Yakov’s frowns had long ceased to hold power over him.

"What possessed you to humiliate princess Mari in front of the whole empire, is what I'd like to know," she said, Pursed Lips joining The Look.  
  
Victor didn't answer immediately; instead, he ambled towards the couch and sat down, arranging himself quite comfortably there. One single rose had fallen from one of Yuuri's bouquets, lying on the sofa as a reminder of what Victor was fighting for.

"What I believe you mean, my dear aunt, is that you'd like to know the result of my new negotiations with the Katsukis this afternoon. Don't worry, I'm more than happy to share the information with you," he finished, beaming at her — uselessly, he knew, but he had no idea what face he would make if he weren’t smiling.

The word ‘negotiations’ earned a full eyebrow raise from Lilia, a victory few things in this life could boast of. Without a word, she sat down and magnanimously gestured for him to explain himself, while Yakov sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.

He didn’t waste time explaining his reasons to do so; the true depth of his feelings were a secret meant solely for Yuuri’s ears. Instead, he explained the new alliance treaty in full detail, going into every possible ramification for them and their neighbors. By the end, Yakov seemed resigned, the treaty not being half as reckless as he might have thought it at first; Lilia, on the other hand, looked beyond vexed.

“I fail to see the part where the throne of Nihon comes to the Nikiforov dynasty,” she replied coldly.

“That’s because it doesn’t. They seem to be doing a grand job of ruling their own isles, no reason for us to interfere, wouldn’t you say?”

“What about our throne, our bloodline? You will have no children.”

 _You didn’t either_ was the last thing he should ever say, and yet it danced at the tip of his tongue. He bit the inside of his cheek for a fleeting second, before resuming his smile.

“Seeing Yura and Mila grow up has been a more than enlightening experience, and I do not wish for another. And we do not lack for heirs, do we? Yura is next in line, then Mila, and Georgi is already courting some princess or another, if I understand his last letter correctly.”

Lilia clicked her tongue, with a disdainful “Georgi” under her breath, choosing to focus on alternatives much more tangible than Georgi’s ever-transient matrimonial hopes. “Mila will soon wed the Queen of Sicily, and Yura is not a Nikiforov.”

Victor waved that away. “Yes, he is, he just doesn’t have the name to go with it. He’s been the heir presumptive since he was born, and that has never bothered anyone before.”

“He is not prepared to be an emperor,” Yakov cut in abruptly.

With a gasp, Victor turned around in his sofa to face him. “Excuse me, but I do intend to live for at least another decade! Surely you are not implying that I’m going to die soon? That’s treason, you know,” he added cheerfully. Yakov rolled his eyes, and Victor turned to Lilia again. “We should have plenty of time to groom Yura for the job, and I’ll see to that myself.”

He got nothing but cold silence as an answer. Victor could regret her frustration, and could feel sorry for her disappointment — but could never regret his decision. Marrying Yuuri might not bring glory to Victor’s name in the pages of history, but it would bring him something far more substantial and everlasting. You couldn’t find life, or love, in the pages of books; you could only live them.

With no other counterargument, Lilia semed on the verge of a sigh, except she never would. Sighing was a sign of defeat, and that she would never openly concede. She simply shook her head, infinitesimally so, saying, “You wish to spend your life with the prince, and I do not blame you. But there were other venues you could have chosen, Vitya. You could still have had him by your side while expanding our empire.”

Victor’s brows knit together. What did she mean? Certainly he would have never been able to marry Yuuri and still— oh.

_Oh._

“You mean to say,” he replied, his smile dropping before he could stop it, “I should have married Mari and made Yuuri my lover, lived a life with him in the shadows like you did with Yakov?”

 _There are things,_ his grandfather used to say, _we should never say. And there are others we should save for just the right time._ This was definitely the latter, and it had the effect intended. Had she known how to, Lilia would have blanched; but unable to do that which was common to lesser characters, she sat up even straighter, back as unyielding as her own mind.

“Victor Andreyevich. If you think—”

“Lilia,” said Yakov quietly from the window. “Leave the boy be.”

They both turned around to look at him, but Yakov had his back turned to the room — which was frankly for the best. For all the effect he’d wanted to cause with his words, Victor didn’t really want to see the look on Yakov’s face as he said his next words:

“No one should have to live like we have over the last forty years. A half-life at best. He wants more.”

The silence that followed drowned anything else Victor could have had to say, and it seemed to have the same effect on Lilia. She waved her hand impatiently at him:

“You should go to the balcony. It won’t do for the emperor to not be there to watch the fireworks in honor of his own engagement.”

Without a second thought, Victor hasted to leave the room. Between Lilia’s sour mood, and the perspective of watching fireworks with Yuuri, there was only one correct option.

* * *

“And none of you thought to tell me?!” Yuuri asked, hoping his reproachful stare at Minako would make her flinch. But no such luck.

To his dismay, she simply shrugged, all indifference herself. “You didn’t think to be open with us either. Your Highness,” she added for maximum caustic effect.

He silently conceded the point and sat down by her side. They could still see the ball through the arches that separated their alcove from the main room; the cotillion went on unperturbed, Mila now dancing with the duke of Popovich, and Yuri with Count Altin (looking happier than he ever had so far). Others chatted and drank champagne, carefully ignoring the fact that the guests of honor and the hosts had suddenly disappeared into private rooms.

“I just didn’t think I had the right to be,” Yuuri mumbled.

“What you _thought_ was that you could hide your feelings from everyone else,” said Minako, taking no prisoners. “And that if you hid them from us, you’d be able to hide them from yourself until they vanished into nothing. Yuuri,” she added with a sigh, “when are you going to learn you don’t have to fight alone?”

Yuuri closed his eyes. He’d spent an entire week exhausting himself into thinking he had to hide, conceal, deny and close the doors — only to find his family by his side, and Victor storming into every single door he’d thought shut forever.

And to find Mari having a bit of a laugh at his expense, perhaps.

 _“It seems you’re going to be here for a while after the wedding. For better or worse.”_ She’d known all along, and had toyed with him instead of sharing the truth of their meeting that morning.

(But for all his indignation, he could never resent her for it. It was well his due, and he was lucky she hadn’t done more.)

“Besides,” Minako continued, “it is exceedingly naive of you to think none of us saw the way you lived and died every time the emperor walked into the room. You must think us blind indeed!”

His eyes flew wide open. “I can’t possibly have been that obvious!”

She scoffed. “You were beyond obvious. And His Majesty was even worse, make no mistake! Yuuri,” she added seriously, “what did you think was going to happen once you and Mari moved to Rus?”

“Nothing at all,” he said decisively. “He would have married Mari, and that would have been the end of it.”

“And you think you would have resisted temptation?” She shook her head mournfully. “Yuuri, you have never been good at not chasing what you want. The only thing that would have come out of Mari marrying His Majesty would be you and him bringing shame to our house. I had to intervene.”

“So you… talked to my parents?”

“So I talked to your parents,” she confirmed. “We all agreed that it was not to happen, but none of us knew how to approach the matter. Fortunately, he did so himself.” She raised an eyebrow. “I confess I was surprised. He is not at all the scatterbrain I took him for.”

Yuuri smiled. “Now what?”

“Now, Your Highness,” Minako replied, standing up and opening her fan once again, “it seems you are to be married to the Emperor of Rus. And by all accounts, you could do much worse!”

He stood up as well, that much more relieved. If the union had his parents’ blessing, Mari’s approval and Minako’s support, he truly lacked for nothing else. Well. Except for one thing.

Presently, that “one thing” showed up at the threshold of the alcove, little more than a silver and pink blur to Yuuri from that distance — but an unmistakable one.

“Yuuri, we— oh, excuse me lady Minako,” he said, giving her a hasty bow that Yuuri was sure he was not supposed to, as the emperor. But there were lots of things Victor was not supposed to, and yet he dared them all. “I came to invite Yuuri to see the fireworks from the balcony,” he said, smile cutting through the haze in Yuuri’s vision and shooting an arrow straight into his heart. It aimed fast and true, landing with all the others right in its core. A lifetime of this was certain to be a menace to his health.

A lifetime of this.

Minako tapped him lightly on the shoulder with her fan. “Your Highness, _go_.”

Needing no other command, Yuuri hastened to Victor’s side, accepting his hand and everything else that came with it.

Out in the balcony, despite the cheers of the crowd down below and the shimmering silver and golden lights of the fireworks in the night sky, Victor’s smile was the only thing Yuuri really had eyes for — and if it took him far too long to realize the feeling was fully reciprocated, he might well be excused. It had been an eventful evening, to say the very least.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked Victor.

“I’m thinking… they’re very lucky.”

“They?”

Victor raised Yuuri’s hand to his lips. “The man who will have you for his husband,” he muttered, a small smile against his skin.

Yuuri’s face heated, but there was no looking away now, nor ever again, and he smiled through the blush and the instinct to tell Victor he was being silly.

There was only a lifetime of this.

* * *

**_8 months later_ **

Makka raised her head and barked — just once, low and discreetly. She _was_ royalty, after all, and well aware that barking more than once was ungainly.

Victor petted her head. “I know, darling, I know. But we can’t really go on our walk without him, can we?”

She rested her head on her paws once again, resigned. But she wait for much longer: Yuuri walked into his antechamber with his hair still disordered from the pillows, and wearing nothing but a white linen nightshirt, so thin it left little to the imagination as the sun bathed him in the morning light coming through the windows. With his throat going dry at the sight, Victor seriously considered not leaving those chambers at all for the rest of the day, calling off all commitments except for one.

“Morning,” mumbled Yuuri, still as unfriendly to early mornings as ever. At least today he had a good excuse for it. Sleepily, he scratched behind Makkachin’s ears when she came to greet him, who had wisely chosen not to jump on him.

Before Victor could wrap himself around Yuuri and take him back to his bedchamber like he wanted to, there was a slight knock on the door and lady Okukawa walked in.

“Your Highness, good mo— _Yuuri!_ ” she stopped abruptly at the door, eyes going wide. After a perfunctory bow to Victor, she stared at her royal protegé, hands in her hips and frustration in her eyes. “For all the gods’ sake, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m… saying good morning to my fiancé?” he said, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

“In your _nightshirt?!_ Honestly, Yuuri!”

“What’s the matter? We’re going to be married today,” he said, that last part accompanied by a smile to Victor. If Yuuri kept being so unfairly irresistible, he might find himself a widower before they could even consummate their marriage — that smile and that exposed neck did unspeakable things to Victor’s heart.

Lady Okukawa sighed. “Yuuri, this is _not_ how this works. Surely His Majesty—”

“That is quite alright, lady Okukawa,” said Victor, still unable to look at anything else that wasn’t Yuuri. “It might be time for us to do away with certain protocols, don’t you think?”

Her look said she thought the exact opposite, but she still replied with a quiet, “If Your Majesty wishes it.” Clearly holding back a sigh, she turned to Yuuri again. “I’ll send Minami with your breakfast, we’ll start preparations in a few hours. Excuse me.”

When the door closed behind her, Yuuri snorted. “I’m glad you didn’t tell her you spent the night in my bed.”

Victor shivered. “She would have kicked me out of your rooms, Yuuri. Not exactly what I have in mind for our wedding day. I will gladly show you,” he continued, finally pulling Yuuri by his waist like he’d been longing to, burying his nose in his neck and planting a kiss there, “what I have in mind for our wedding day, as you seem to have a few hours,” another kiss, “until preparations start.”

Yuuri groaned. “Hardly. Between Minami with breakfast, and Minako coming in and out of my chambers as she sees fit, we will have no time alone to speak of.” With those words, he grabbed Victor by his collar and pulled him flush against him, kissing him deep and long enough to bring back the still fresh memories of their previous night — and just as goosebumps rode down Victor’s skin and made a home at the pit of his stomach, Yuuri pulled away and murmured, “so I would advise you not to get carried away.”

“I… you… that is not fair,” Victor whined, letting go as Yuuri delicately extricated himself and walked back to his bedchambers. While he did so, he was careful to stretch his arms above his head, making sure Victor could get a peek of his thighs — the same ones Victor had only guessed at, but only fully discovered the night before, and of which he was already certain he could not get enough.

“We have to walk Makka, my love,” said Yuuri from inside his chamber.

“Yes, of course,” Victor replied vaguely, his heart doing amazing feats of balance on the soft curves of Yuuri’s voice as he said ‘my love’. Eight months apart, with nothing but letters and presents sent back and forth, couldn’t have prepared him for Yuuri being here, _here_ , within reach and all his to keep. Forever.

Yuuri stuck his head out of his bedchamber once again. “There is one problem, I’m afraid.”

Makkachin perked her ears. The word ‘problem’ was not acceptable when a walk was at stake.

“You see,” Yuuri continued, his face suddenly dusted with pink again, “Minami is not here yet to help me dress. I was wondering if you—”

Victor got up from his chair so fast it nearly turned, and hurried into the other room, closing the doors after him and turning the key in the lock. Yuuri looked deeply amused, but they did have precious little time, after all.

“I can help,” said Victor (a little breathlessly, perhaps).

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Do you even know how to help someone dress, _Your Majesty_?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you meant ‘undress’,” he said, beaming. It was hard to do anything else other than smile with Yuuri around.

Yuuri came closer, slowly wrapping his arms around Victor. “Hmm, did you, now? But what happens after you undress me? We don’t exactly have a lot of time,” he whispered. Good thing they had already started preparing Yuri to take over the throne, because Victor might not make it through the day if his fiancée kept toying with him that way. Forget living for another decade, he’d be lucky to live another ten minutes.

Except that Yuuri — this Yuuri who fit perfectly into his arms, who had fallen asleep on his chest last night, and had lips made to be kissed — he was exactly where life began.

He would have no new thrones to add to his empire, no new title to add to the litany of the ones he already had. No entire pages dedicated to him in the history books generations from now. All he would have was a lifetime of Yuuri.

“On the contrary, love,” said Victor. “We have just begun.”

A lifetime of a tale that would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your comments and support, they mean a lot! Sorry for the heartbreak last chapter, hope I've managed to make it up to you! (＾♡＾) And yeah, I know the resolution is unrealistic, XD but you know. Between my soft heart and my penchant for fairy-tale endings, this was inevitable, really!  
> If you have a tumblr, [there's a rebloggable post. ^^](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/post/181356120047/every-calculation-falls-silent-author-thehobbem)
> 
> Thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/) for her beta work and enthusiasm! ♡ 
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/thehobbem)! You'll also find me updating my other wips over here - I still have a yuki-onna Victor, a musician Yuuri, a Howl Victor and actors Victuuri to take care of. ♥


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